


A Kiss From A Rose

by DiamondJedi



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman (Movies - Nolan) RPF, Batman Begins (2005)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Kidnapping, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-18 06:31:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiamondJedi/pseuds/DiamondJedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Could a man dedicated to the night have it all?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

 

**Prologue**

_Six years later..._

"Mommy! Mommy!"

Karen rotated her body just in time to see a small child come racing outside and towards the green house. She set down her garden shears, yanked off her gloves, and hurried to greet her son at the door. Her heart hummed wildly, panic gripping her.

"What is it Thomas?" She asked, dropping to her knees to take hold of the little boy now frantically clinging to her. Karen folded her arms about him and drew him closer. She grew more distressed by the tremors that radiated from his little body. "Sweet heart, what is it?"

"There's a bat in the house?" Thomas answered timorously.

It was then Karen's face contorted and her mouth twisted. Sighing, she rose and took Thomas' tiny hand in hers. "Come on," she said simply. "Let's go find daddy and have him deal with our little bat problem."

Calmly, she led Thomas into the spacious household, entering through the library, and turning east in the extensive hallway. Thomas squeezed her hand, warily looking out for the nocturnal creature that had startled him moments ago.

"Is everything alright Mrs. Wayne?" Alfred emerged from one of the rooms, a question in his eyes.

Karen nodded her head. "Yes," she said. "Just another flying menace?"

The manservant sighed heavily. "Blessed bat again mum, they nest somewhere in the grounds."

"Yes, I know," she replied, slightly aggravated, "and I'm about to find their ward."

Karen tossed Alfred a knowing glance as her lips subtly drew into a smile. The elderly gentleman returned the expression and withdrew into the room. It was no hidden secret. She knew. It was a bit of astonishment when she first discovered that Gotham's most infamous playboy ventured night after night into the city as the enigmatic Batman. She suspected a man as rich and well-to-do as Bruce Wayne had a certain night life. But cape crusader never crossed her mind. He just didn't fit the profile of a vigilante and perhaps that was what he intended for everyone to believe.

She hustled down the hall, winding round several turns, before reaching a massive door of solid oak. She rapped on the door then entered as a deep voice beckoned her inside. She located her husband on the floor of the study. Photographs, yellow folders, and a glass of orange juice sat in front of him. _Night work,_ she thought to herself, and sadness filled her. Although, she'd come to terms with who he was and the mission he had undertaken. She worried.

On nights he slipped away when he assumed she was sleeping, fear and doubt would reside in his place. She would toss endlessly till she felt his strong arm fold about her waist in the pre-dawn hours. It was only then did she feel safe and secure. Thomas ripped free of her hold and raced over to his father. He dove into Bruce's arms narrowly spilling his orange juice on the emerald green carpet.

"Whoa!" Bruce grunted out as the weight of his son crashed into him. He laughed gingerly flipping his son onto the carpet, and started furiously tickling him in the stomach. Thomas thrashed about squealing; his legs flailing in the air, ultimately knocking over the juice.

"Oh Thomas," Karen cried out. She let out a haggard sigh and looked around the room to see if there was anything that could blot out the mess.

"Don't worry about?" Bruce grinned, his arms now fused about his son. "Alfred will take care of it."

Karen narrowed her eyes at him. "We can't depend on him always, you know. He's not as young as he used to be. Besides, I want Thomas to know the value of responsibility."

"He's only four Karen," Bruce berated, gaining a dark scowl from her. "Please don't tell me you expect him to get a job tomorrow."

"Four and a half!" Thomas corrected, quite loudly, and Bruce smiled.

"Right," he said messing his son's hair. "Four and a half."

"Daddy," Thomas groaned, flattening his hand on his hair.

"Sorry," Bruce snorted and looked at Karen. "You're just like you mother, picky about you're hair."

"I'm not like mom, she's a girl." Thomas remarked, apparently displeased his father regarded him in the same fashion as his mother.

"Of course," Karen threw her hands in the air. "I'm only the one who feeds you and clothes you."

"Uncle Alfred does too."

Bruce let out a riotous laugh, filling the entire room with its hearty sound. "So, what was it the two of you wanted to see me about?" he asked after a momentary silence.

Karen pondered for a second. "Oh—"

"Daddy," Thomas cried out. "There's a bat in the house."

"A bat?"

"Yes," Karen said, folding her arms. "Something got _out_ and is now lurking somewhere in the mansion."

"It was in my room," Thomas said. "I saw it."

Bruce rose to his feet, his son in tow. "It might still be there. I'll get a net, capture and release it."

"Can I help?" Thomas asked, his eyes growing wide with excitement.

"I don't want you near that bat, it might carry rabbis," Karen said, concerned.

"I wanna help daddy." Her son said adamantly.

"Want to," Karen admonished, not wanting her son to develop a bad habit, and corrected his pronunciation.

"Sorry," he said pouting his lips, casting her huge puppy dog eyes.

How could she stay angry for long? With those eyes that were so like his father's it was practically impossible. She simply giggled and messed with his hair.

"Ah mom," he cried.

"Go and ask Uncle Alfred to help you fetch the net from the garden shed." Bruce instructed.

"Okay." Thomas said and scampered off to do his bidding.

Once alone, Bruce turned to his wife. "I'm sorry."

"How did it get out?" she inquired in a low whisper.

"Those caves must stretch for miles," he answered, but he was just as baffled as she was considering the newly rebuilt manor lay on fresh foundations.

"Just make sure it doesn't get anywhere near Thomas," Karen sighed, exiting the room to return to the green house. It was not everyday sunshine graced the hoary city of Gotham, and she was going to make the most of the lovely day with some gardening.

Bruce watched the gentle sway of her hips as his wife departed down the hall and a twinkle rose in his eyes. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he set off to find the critter fluttering about the manor. He started going over his good fortune. He didn't know how he'd gotten so lucky and to be gifted with such an understanding wife.

If someone told him he would be happily married and still be Batman, he would say they were crazy. Nevertheless, here he was a married man and proud father. He had it all when he'd convinced himself before that he couldn't. His alternate personality led to many dangers where a significant other would fall in harm's way. However, destiny shaped his life out differently and he was still baffled by how it all happened.


	2. Chapter I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could a man dedicated to the night have it all?

** Chapter I **

_Six years earlier..._

In Karen Miller's mind this merger made no logical sense. What on God's green earth would a fortune five hundred company, such as Wayne Enterprises, want with a small local business like Trust Meyers? What would a man with far too much money to spend expect to gain from this simple consulting firm? Despite her suspicions, she dared not open her mouth, but resumed the task of ensuring her desk was tidy and hair neat.

"Hurry people, hurry, Mr. Wayne will be here any minute." A skittish little man wearing an insanely bright red bow tie raced down the aisle boarded by a wall of cubicles on either side.

Rupert Meyers was his normal obsessive compulsive self, yet today his disorder was cataclysmically out of control. He barked at blond female employee as he pointed to the minimal amount of trash in her waste basket and told her to dump it. And he was hostile towards an eighteen year old intern and commented on their choice in wardrobe.

Shaking her head, Karen walked the short distance to the file room, and deposited three yellow folders in her possession. Inside the tiny four walled room she could clearly hear Mr. Meyer's earsplitting tirade. She sulked and rubbed her temple. It was going to be a long morning.

"He's just a man for goodness sake's," she muttered under her breath and headed towards the tiny lounge for a cup of coffee.

"Bruce Wayne. I can't believe it." A woman cried in girlish giggles.

Karen wheeled round to see her obnoxiously exuberant colleague tip toe into the room. Beth's large blue-green eyes were wide with excitement and her dazzling smile reached the edge of her twinkling pupils. She ran her fingers through her blond hair teased in bountiful waves and savagely started to clean a coffee stain out her white blouse.

"Oh damn," she whined, working the napkin deep into the fabric. The stain seemed to grow larger and spread.

"You better wear you're jacket," Karen suggest, blowing the hot steam from her mug.

"But that would kill my figure," she complained and soaked the napkin in cold water and began scrubbing again.

"You're only making it worse," said Karen shaking her head. "You're pushing the stain deep into the fibers."

"Oh." Beth cried and contorted her face in disapproval. She decided to apply a minimal amount of dish detergent. Hoping the chemicals in the soap would alleviate the coffee stain a tad. Her actions turned into disaster. She had misjudged the amount of soap to water and ended up with a drenched blouse. "Oh no," she squealed in horror.

Karen finally lashed out in disgust. "All for a man who barely knows—!"

"Karen! Beth!" a woman cried out.

Both women turned towards the door to see Rebecca coaxing them to her. The forty-two year old woman's face brightened and her eyes were aglow. Despite the fine lines and tinge of grey hair she incessantly dyed, she was aging gracefully. "I think he's just arrived."

"No," Beth exclaimed glancing down at her damp blouse which was boldly displaying her white lace bra. "I don't want him to see me like this." Tired of her constant bickering, Karen yanked off her black jacket, and handed it to her. "It doesn't match. I'm wearing navy-blue."

"The man is going to be tied up in Mr. Meyer's office. You'll probably never have direct contact with him." Karen snapped and watched as Beth begrudgingly slipped into the simple attire.

The office quieted just as the elevator doors parted to unloaded a stream of men and women dressed in sharp business suits. Planted in the lobby by the elevator doors, Mr. Meyers waited nervously, and shook hands with a tall dark skinned man that stepped out the levitator. The men talked as he escorted him to the small conference room in the far side of the office.

"Oh, it's Lucius Fox," Rebecca said. "He's the new CEO of Wayne Enterprises."

"I thought Mr. Wayne was coming." Beth cried, pouting.

The older of the two women flashed a sideways smirk. "Maybe he's overseeing a hostile takeover in another country."

Karen was hardly interested. She lifted her mug and with caution sipped the rich Columbian brew. The office resumed normality; however, hardly a soul worked or answered phones that were constantly ringing off the hook. Employees were keeping a constant vigil on the conference room.

"Mr. Wayne is probably home, asleep, where I'd like to be and instead of being dragged into work on my day off to cater to his every whim." Karen commented.

She rubbed her tired eyes and sighed. She could have told Mr. Meyers 'no' but the extra hours would help pay the excruciating energy bills. During the winter months, her furnace was on overload, and the payments were killing her.

Beth gave her a dark look. "A man like Bruce Wayne goes sailing in the Caribbean or skiing in Switzerland. He doesn't lounge around in bed all day."

"He's a man. If they're not lying on their asses, they're out screwing anything in a skirt," Karen said grimly.

"I'm glad my daughter isn't like you Karen." Rebecca said, shaking her head. "Otherwise, she wouldn't be married today."

"Wonderful."

"And you wonder why Steven left you," Beth scoffed. "You're such a pessimist."

Two things alarmed Karen, one was Beth obviously knew the definition of pessimist and two she was aware of her fallout with her longtime boyfriend. She gripped the handle of her mug as pain swelled in her chest. She shut her eyes then caught the smug look on Beth's face.

The little twit was lucky they were at work.

"Besides," the blond continued. "You shouldn't be mocking my future husband. I could have you fired one day if this merger goes through."

"Now ladies," Rebecca mediated, not liking where this was going.

"I'll quit by then," Karen replied in a clipped voice. "Anyway, I think the two of you deserve each other. He's spoiled, arrogant, and likes dating airheads like you."

Beth's mouth shaped into a large 'o' as she gasped in outrage. She gritted her teeth ready to unleash hot darts when someone interjected into the brutal conversation:

"It's nice to know you have an honest opinion about me."

Karen narrowly spilled coffee on herself as she swirled around in her heels. A man, standing a few feet from the women, lowered a file and flashed a smile. He was impeccably dressed in a dark blue suit. He wore a light blue shirt with a blue tie of a different shade. Polished, handsome, Bruce Wayne was epitome of wealth and status.

Blood drained from Karen's face. Her heart hammered murderously in her chest. "Mr. Wayne." It was the only words she could find at the moment. Her head felt light and her mouth was suddenly dry. She wanted to run and lie down somewhere. Beth was equally horrified, knowing the well-to-do bachelor picked up on every word she had spoken. Feigning a stomach ache, she hurried out the office to the nearest restroom.

Karen wished her legs would carry her just as quickly, but they were glued to the grey carpeting. She watched Bruce closed the distance between them. He was tall, impressively, by at least two feet. He stretched out his hand. "Bruce Wayne."

She didn't know whether to shake it or grovel on the floor and beg for her job. She had just insulted him for goodness sake even though the barb was meant for Beth.

"Karen," she said, taking the hand offered. His fingers clamped around her hand as she shook his hand. For a moment, she was amazed by how soft and strong his hand was and how it swallowed hers completely.

"Karen—what—?" He asked, his smile never fading.

"Mr. Wayne? Mr. Wayne we weren't expecting you!" Rupert Meyers came scampering away from the conference room with Lucius Fox not far behind. He nearly ran across the room, plowing down several employees in his path.

Bruce had to admire his agility. For a short, stubby little man, he moved rather swiftly. "I see you've met Miss Miller. She's the finest consultant I ever had the pleasure of employing. If you ever need a straight forward answer or opinion, she's the woman to have in your corner."

"So I can see," Bruce said looking her over. "She was more than willing to tell me her opinion a few moments ago." Karen's eyes went wide as a crimson hue blush her cheeks.

"Really," Mr. Meyers said excitedly.

"She was kind enough to inform me that I would be making a wise investment in your company."

"Really."

"Yes." Bruce remarked. "She also would like to discuss the terms of the contract." He turned to look at Karen. She was utterly speechless. "Let's say over lunch tomorrow if the documents are available."

"They're ready when you are Mr. Wayne," Lucius Fox said.

"Splendid." Bruce looked at his wristwatch and explained he had to leave to get ready for a charity dinner. He shook hands with Mr. Meyers and departed as swiftly as he emerged.

"I'll have my secretary fax you the documents as soon as possible." Lucius Fox said to Mr. Meyers as the two men walked slowly out the office floor and to the elevators. After he departed Mr. Meyers went back inside his office as happy as a clown.

"Excellent work Karen," he said as he streamline towards his office to monitor the fax machine. She, on the other hand, had hardly fallen out of her trance. A business lunch with Bruce Wayne? When did this occur?


	3. Chapter II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could a man dedicated to the night have it all?

Karen had had enough of her boss.

Rupert Meyers antagonized her the moment she'd stepped off the elevator, walked the short distance through the lobby, and enter Trust Meyers private corner in the corporate building. He was edgy, persistent, and nervous about the upcoming meeting with Bruce Wayne.

His agitation was crowding her, leaving her slightly irritable, especially after last night. Her egotistic ex-boyfriend had made an unannounced visit to her apartment. Steven said he wanted to talk, but there were no adequate words to make up for his betrayal.

He cheated on her and with numerous women working in the building.

"Be sure to notify me Ms. Miller the second Mr. Wayne signs the contracts." Mr. Meyers said his highhanded manner grating on her nerves.

"Yes sir," said Karen. She understood Wayne Enterprises was the high priced clientele her boss and many other employees dreamed of; a merger such as this would ensure an increase in salary, longer vacations, and benefits. As much as she welcomed a friendly boost to her paycheck, Karen was less than optimistic. Despite the fact the economy was slowly tittering towards recovery, those deemed an asset to their employers' maintained employment. She wondered if Wayne Enterprises would have to downsize a good number of employees at Trust Meyers.

It was a subject she'd have to approach carefully, especially to the new principal interest holder to the largest multi-international corporation in the world.

Karen hadn't noticed Mr. Meyers had been rambling until she saw his bushy eyebrows bunch together and his lip grow tight. "Ms. Miller, are sure you are capable of handling this…"

"I have everything under control Mr. Meyers," said Karen as she quickly sifted through documents in her hand, before stuffing the paperwork into her briefcase. "You can have complete confidence in me." She straightened, briefcase in hand, purse slung over her shoulder, trench coat hanging over her left arm.

He looked at her with a certain level of hesitation. "If there are any problems…"

Karen concealed the edge rising inside her. The notions her boss found her incompetent and ill equipped to handle this merger affronted her. She knew in her heart she could pull off this business venture. Hell, she had graduated at the top of her business class at Gotham University and had shown exemplary work upon her employment at the firm. Mr. Meyers continuously recommended her to clients and proudly boasted her talents in front of Mr. Wayne.

Why the sudden hesitation?

Did he wish to handle the proceedings himself? As men often do, Mr. Meyers probably would have like to be at the meeting himself. Nevertheless, Mr. Wayne had requested she take part in the luncheon.

Karen reached out and touched her boss on the shoulder. Even though, Rupert Meyers walked around with a stick up his butt, he was a kind employer and paid his employees as well as he could. He only wanted the best for them all.

"You have my assurance sir," she said with a smile. "Everything will turn out fine." He nodded and turned to head back to his tiny office.

Sighing, Karen turned and marched down the aisle towards the lobby. She felt scores of eyes boring into her back, knowing every co-worker was placing their economic future in her hands. She locked eyes with a steaming blonde. Beth sat in her cubicle, vexed, and extremely hostile. A fleeting sense of satisfaction kindled Karen's spirits in knowing she would be having a close one on one with Bruce Wayne. Sadly, it was a business lunch, nothing more.

A swift descent to the ground floor, Karen exited the complex building housing multiple small companies and firms, and stepped in a crisp Gotham afternoon. Autumn was fast on approach; temperatures were dipping in the high sixties. Much to her relief she didn't have to wait long or put on her heavy coat. A silver grey Rolls Royce was parked in front of the building and an elderly man with an English accent addressed her as Alfred and opened the back door.

It took her a second to remember it was Mr. Wayne, not Lucius Fox, who would be handling the negotiations.

"Mr. Wayne," she said, clearing her throat, trying to avoid the way her stomach clenched when he smiled at her and gestured she take a seat with noticeably large hands.

Karen let out a breath as she sank into the soft, tan leather, and allowed the soothing warm atmosphere to overtake her. In a moment, the luxury vehicle pulled from the curb and eased into traffic. Karen didn't waste the opportunity in enlightening Bruce Wayne on the benefits of undertaking a company such as Trust Meyers.

"As you can see," she said pulling her portfolio out her briefcase to display the graphics and figures, "we hold a high rate for good customer service, not to mention consultations which have proven reliable to our…"

Bruce chuckled a heartily, shaking his head. "I'm pretty sure we'll have plenty of time for facts and figures Ms. Miller."

"Oh," she said, giving a sweet smile. "Of course." She leaned forward and slid the files back into her case.

"I thought we could use this time to get to know one another," he suggested, angling his body in the seat in order to gain a better look at her.

Karen caught her breath, a touch of rouge glowing on her cheeks. The last thing she expected was to be struck by how handsome he was and his insinuation they become more acquainted.

What could he want to know?

There wasn't anything truly remarkable about her. At twenty-six her life, in her opinion, had barely begun. She had accomplished a few of her goals, but there was still a great deal left to strike off her list. She wanted to attribute more to society, to Gotham. She wanted to make a change. She wanted to save it.

Some of her clients came from desperate situations. Many were seeking ways to save the crumbling businesses or counsel so they could avoid unfortunate instances that would cost them their fragile incomes. Karen offered her knowledge and a helping hand. She was proud with all she'd done to bring peace of mind to those hoping to see their dreams flourish, but she wanted to do more.

The city was still rotting and not many were paying attention.

She felt Bruce's eyes on her and turned to gaze at the billionaire, groomed, and impeccably dressed in a fine Italian suits His rich brown hair was parted and combed, each strand in its proper place. A well-endowed forehead bordered prominent eyebrows and a pair of gleaming eyes.

Karen's heart ticked madly.

She always had a weakness for eyes. She willed herself not to become lost in the soft hazel green pupils that peered at her with such clarity and distinction.

Beautiful. Sad. They looked at her with a soulful reflection of a wounded child. She dropped her eyes to the carpet, gripping her hands in order to offset the blood rushing to her brain. Giddy, she tapped her foot.

Bruce noticed the subtle change and frowned. "Are you alright?"

She rotated her head. "Yes…of course…why?"

"Nothing," he said. "You just look tense."

Karen smiled. "I'm fine."

She sought interest in the outside world as the luxury car drove through downtown Gotham. Bruce probed her with questions; she answered, while secretly praying they'd reach the restaurant soon; the close confine of the car was becoming quite intense. She scoffed, silently reprimanding herself, as another face invaded her mind. The last thing she desired was relapse in judgment as Steven's face flashed. She danced around that fool for two years; she wasn't ready to dive head first into the pool again, despite what her primal instincts were signaling.

Yes, Bruce Wayne was gorgeous, but he wasn't exactly available. He was dating Gwendolyn Harris, the shipping heiress, and even if he was attainable she wasn't ready. She didn't want to get hurt again. A man like Bruce traveled in a certain circle and courted the most beautiful women. She held her own in the mainstream public but not against fashion models and movie stars. Sighing, she tucked a plain, brown strand behind her ear. She was so far in her thoughts she didn't hear him speak.

"Do you really think I'm arrogant?"

Karen nearly jumped in her seat. "Huh! What?"

Bruce laughed. "Relax…I was only remarking on the comment you made two days ago."

Her face turned bright red. "Mr. Wayne," she counted her words carefully. "I want to apologize about that. It was totally out of line. I wasn't in any way…"

"You're honesty hasn't failed to amuse me Ms. Miller," Bruce's eyes twinkled, sending good chills down her spine. He lolled his head against the soft leather, relaxed in the rich environment, gazing at her. "Don't stop now."

Karen braved a smile. She nodded then returned her eyes to the streets moving by quickly, but felt his eyes on her. She, at the moment, never felt so aware of a man's presence. Her skin grew hot, dotted with beads of sweat all over body. When the Rolls Royce came to a halt, she counted her blessings. Alfred put the car in park, exited the driver side. Collecting her purse, Karen was stunned to receive not the valet's but Bruce's hand instead.

She hesitated.

"If you don't mind Ms. Miller," Bruce said. "Our reservations cancel at two."

Nodding, she slipped her hand in his, and hoped he wouldn't see she was shivering. If he did it was all due to the weather. Karen was alarmed when he roped her arms around his and led her grandly towards the Ritz Marlton Hotel; a recent acquisition of the wealthy entrepreneur. Several photographers snapped pictures of them. Bruce smiled and waved. Karen was in a whirlwind of emotion.

What was he doing?

He was parading her as if she were his latest squeeze. It was extremely unprofessional and she vowed she would put an end to whatever game he was playing.

"Mr. Wayne," Karen stated, once seated at a more private section of the dining room. She spread her hands across the white linen and took a deep breath. "I hope you understand that I'm here to do a job, and I intend to do that job to the best of my ability."

He looked at her with penetrating eyes. Beautiful. Sad. She swallowed, wetting her lips. "I wouldn't have it any other way," he said in a low whisper. Karen pressed her mouth together and nodded. Unfolding her napkin, she placed it on her lap. He understood. She would accept that.

A waiter offered them their menus before reciting the main course of the day. Roast partridge braised in a blood orange sauce. Her appetite wetted, Karen selected that as an entrée and asked for a glass of mineral water. Bruce ordered poached salmon in a lemon sauce with a 1967 chateau to serve him.

Karen was intrigued. He had taste. He knew his wine. She had some idea about quality vintage thanks to Steven. She cut her thoughts away from her ex and declined Bruce's offer of wine.

She wanted to keep her head clear.

"So," said Bruce who took a sip of the enriched fermented drink once the waiter returned with a bottle. Satisfied, he nodded his head and the young man poured. "How long have you worked at Trust Meyers."

It was a legitimate question. "Three years," Karen answered, sipping her mineral water. "I majored in accounting at Gotham University, a minor in psychology."

"Was business something you've always wanted to do?"

"Yes," said Karen. "It deals with my two favorite subjects: people and money." Bruce arched an eyebrow. She grinned. "Not your money of course. I genuinely like to help people who know the value of a dollar."

She regretted the words the instant they came flying out of her mouth. She didn't mean to sound critical, particularly after breezing through an insert in the newspaper's society section. He had wrecked a $100,000 dollar boat because he liked big splashes.

"Well," he chuckled. "I hope you'll overlook the immense support I've shown to numerous charities."

Shame washed over Karen. As predictable her big mouth had overruled sense and logic. She swore she'd learn to curb her tongue. She was starved when the waiter rolled a cart to their table, unveiling a delightful array of delectable food. Her stomach grumbled as she inhaled the aroma. In haste, she'd skipped breakfast, rushing to work to gather the documents, and have quick word with her boss.

"It's nice to see someone has an appetite," said Bruce. "Most women I know stick to salad and water."

Karen let out a small giggle. "Give me a Whopper value meal anytime, that's the way to my heart." As they ate, he asked more questions, some pertaining to her personal interests and life. Karen thought it was highly irregular, inappropriate, but answered as she could. She still had to play her cards in order for this merger to succeed. If she failed, not only would everyone despise her, Mr. Meyers would ensure she never work in Gotham again.

"Are you married?" asked Bruce as he took the last bite of his salmon.

She coughed, reaching for her water. "No," she croaked.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

Karen drew back in her seat, enraged. "I don't see how that is any of your business."

"I was curious," Bruce replied offhandedly. Taking up his wine glass, he drank.

Staying her anger, Karen picked up her briefcase, and set it firmly on the table. "May we finally discuss this merger?"

The billionaire wiped his mouth on his napkin. "If that is what you wish?"

"Of course."

"Very well," he pushed his empty plate aside and poured more wine into his glass. He took a portfolio from her and listened as she rambled for the next half hour. "Where do I sign," he finally said.

Karen marked the look on his face. He was utterly bored, so why the interest in the company. She bent over and retrieved a pen from her purse, handing it to him. "Right where I've marked Mr. Wayne."

Gripping the fountain pen, Bruce skimmed it lightly over the ivory sheets and paused. His squinted his eyes as he read the black lettering. He flipped page after page and Karen sat, her fingers crossed under the table. "Hmm," he murmured. "Perhaps I should have the board review this before I make a final decision."

Karen's world spun. "But…but why?" she cried. "I've overlooked the contract and so have Mr. Meyers and his lawyer. They didn't foresee a problem."

Bruce capped the pen and laid it on the thirty page document. "I understand, but I want to make sure there are no frailties or setbacks."

"As you wish." Karen collected the unsigned contract and placed back in her briefcase, the whole time curbing to desire to scream and demand what was truly wrong. Straightening, she met Bruce Wayne's amiable smile, and steeled. He offered her some coffee, but her throat was too dry to swallow anything at the moment. She was tormented by his reason not to sign. It was a sweet deal.

"Mr. Wayne," she began, desperate to know what his motives were. Her voice trailed as a shadow fell on their table. Raising her eyes, Karen marked a woman standing off to the right. She was beautiful, slender, glamorously dressed. Brilliant red hair piled on top of her head was pinned with a jeweled barrette. Her emerald green eyes flashed angrily as she stood clutching her purse, a hand on her hip. Karen shifted nervously in her seat, pushing a brown strand behind her ear.

"Gwen," Bruce said in sheer surprise. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Fancy!" The scarlet haired beauty cried. "I thought we were having lunch today, but I can see your hands are full." She glared at Karen.

"Didn't I send word that I'll be in a meeting today," Bruce explained.

"You've sent me nothing!" Gwendolyn shook with rage, folding her arms.

Rising, Bruce attempted to appease his lady friend temper, which was legendary. People took interest in the heated development; they whispered to one another. "We'll talk about this later."

The heiress screamed, "What for? You're never around when I _want_ to talk! You're always busy!"

"Would you calm down…"

"Don't tell me to calm down…" she seethed and glowered at Karen. "If you're diddling her Bruce…just tell…"

He took hold of her arms. "No…damn it…Gwen…Karen is a consultant from Trust Meyers. We're discussing a merger."

Gwendolyn wrenched out his hands. "It's always business when you don't want to tell me the truth. Is that you're excuse for the nights you leave me alone? Business!"

Karen knew Bruce was angry by the way the muscles in his jaw throbbed. He was trying to keep his cool for this outrageous woman. "Gwen…we'll discuss it…later."

"Don't bother." She snatched up a glass of water and dashed it in his face. "Good-bye Bruce."


	4. Chapter III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could a man dedicated for the night have it all?

"It's my all my fault," Karen groaned, bitterly, as she mulled of the today's business lunch—which in everyone's opinion especially Mr. Meyer's—was a total disaster. But how could it have been? She checked and rechecked her figures and ensured she had all the proper documentation. She had complete faith the deal would be signed and everyone would be singing her praises.

The outcome was far from what she'd imagined. If not worst.

Mr. Wayne said he wanted to 'think about it'. The message was clear. He was having second thoughts on whether or not he should purchase such a small company. It was common in most major cooperation that feared being shackled to small companies. They sometimes turned into 'poor investments'.

She sulked and rubbed her temples, a headache growing. Rupert Meyers looked at her as though she had sold government secrets to the enemy. Without so much as a raised voice, he told her to take the rest of the afternoon off. Karen understood all too well what that meant. It was a code word for unemployment.

"Stop blaming yourself," Rebecca replied, draining the last of her Martini and hailing a good looking bartender for another round. "There was no way you could've predicted what would happen? You didn't know Mr. Wayne would have a change of heart."

Moments after she left work, she met up with Karen at the South Seas bar to dish on the latest. She informed Karen that Mr. Meyers had remained his office the rest of the day on the telephone; apparently he was speaking to Lucius Fox, for she counted his name about seven times.

Karen took a swig of beer—Miller Lite was a definite favorite. Normally, she would partake in glass of wine, but tonight she needed something a bit more robust to take the edge off her mood.

"Tell that to the fifty employees who stared daggers into my back as I left."

"Screw them! Everyone knows you're the best consultant at that place. You rake in the most clients, hell, sometimes even the pros hit a bump in the road." Rebecca kicked off her shoes; the Gucci shoes, a pride and joy of life, were now taking its toll and squeezing the life out of her feet.

"Being the best better land me a new job interview and decent job, because if this merger doesn't fall through, I'm going be out on my—" Karen let out a startled breath when she saw her purse begin to dance and vibrate on the bar table. She picked it up, set it on her lap, and began to dig for her Blackberry.

"A text," she said as she read the incoming message. "It's Mr. Meyers." Her face became alight. "He wants me to be at Wayne Towers tomorrow at 10 am. Mr. Wayne is reconsidering. He's going to sign."

"That's great," said Rebecca, and her mouth curled into a smirk. "And you were getting all worried for nothing."

"I—I wasn't worried," Karen fibbed, dropping her cell phone in her purse, and taking up her beer.

"Okay," Rebecca said, rolling her eyes. "Hell, here's to merger."

"To a better future," replied Karen cheerfully, as the women clanged their glasses together.

They talked and drank for another half hour before Rebecca checked her wristwatch and her eyes widened. She searched her bag and pulled out make up and lipstick, dolling up her face. Karen arched a brow, curiosity spreading across her face.

"Who's got you all hot and bothered?"

Rebecca blushed like a high school girl. "It's—it's Bob."

Karen's mouth dropped. "Not Bob from the Marketing Division two floors up."

"The very one," said the forty-something year old woman.

"I thought after your divorce you eternally swore off men."

"So I lied," quipped Rebecca as she powdered her nose. "I'm not young like young Karen. You can say no to every dead beat that crosses your path. Girls my age have to take them as they come."

"What are you talking about?" Karen cried. "You don't look a day pass thirty-five."

"Thank you darlin'," Rebecca beamed a large smile. "But the clock is ticking and I want one more romp before the party door closes forever." She slipped into her shoes, and combed her fingers through her hair. "Besides, when are going to stop pinning over that pompous asshole and get yourself a new damn man."

"When hell freezes over." Karen shook her head, fingered her napkin. "I—I don't think I'm ready to go down that lane again."

Rebecca leaned forward, eyes full of concern. "If not now, when?"

Karen forced a smile. "I promise to tell you when the time is right, okay."

"Don't wait until the crow's feet sets in."

"No," Karen laughed. "I won't"

They were silent a brief moment when Rebecca suggested Karen join her and Bob for dinner.

"Twos company, three's a crowd remember."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Planting a kiss on her dear friend's forehead, Rebecca gathered her belongings and left the stuffy bar. After thirty minutes and declining a rather shabby attempt from a guy trying to gain her favors, Karen rose and left to make the long, vigorous march to the train station. Nights were settling quickly on the city as the autumn season slowly ebbed into winter. And nights in Gotham City were a danger zone.

Crime was rampant. From rapist to drug dealers, from purse snatchers to the just plain psychos set loose by overcrowded prisons; the mayor said it was lack of funding. Karen thought it was poor money management. There was practically ten different ways a woman alone on the streets could get hurt.

However much of the criminal element had abated since the rise of a vigilante people dubbed 'The Batman'. Criminals were running scared and hope was on the streets. Despite all the good, Karen was veraciously opposed to anyone taking the law into their own hands. What truly gave them the right? Who's to stop others from following suit?

She stopped by a newsstand and bought a copy of the Gotham Times. Tucking it under her arms, she hustled up four blocks to catch the Number 8 train that would take her roaring to the West Harlow district—and to home. As she rode the train, she read the newspaper; The Batman was on the cover yet again.

"Excuse me miss, are going to read the rest of that newspaper," a man next to her asked as the train pulled to her stop.

"No," she said, handing the man the paper. "I'm a fast reader."

He thanked her graciously and shuffled the papers. "Mighty shame, this bat freak huh?"

"You have no idea."

Outside, she strolled across the platform, taking the steps in an eager pace, anxious to gain the safety and closed comfort her apartment alone could provide. Up ahead she saw two guys coming towards her as she crossed the street. Karen felt her heart skipped as they walked by her, and the shorter heavier build of the two whistled at her.

"Hey sweet thing! What's your hurry?" His partner snickered loudly. "What? Not good enough for you."

A nervous impulse hustled Karen's steps, her senses picking up signals that made her spine tingle and her pulse thready. She stole a glance behind; her worse fears had come to fruition. They were following her, the larger one puffed on a cigarette while the other shoved his hands into his pockets. Her thoughts fired. What was it? A knife? A gun? Wind whistled through loose strands of hair as she narrowly took off running down the street. She became frantic. She could hear the pounding footsteps behind her and searched her purse for the mace she kept as a precaution.

"Stay away from me!" Karen screamed, rearing up, flashing the mace at her assailants.

They came to a crashing halt, eyeing the acidic weapon. Hardly deterred by her frantic actions, they circled, one to the left the other to right, spreading more fear and trepidation in Karen. She sprayed. Scorching, burning, liquid filled the air, choking both her and the men threatening her person. But it was all for naught. She missed and was immediately swallowed in huge arms that dragged her into a dark alley.

She fought viciously, kicking, and screaming, feeling behind to scratch a face with her nails.

"Ugh, yah dumb whore!" roared one of the men, who grabbed her by the hair and punched her hard in the face.

She dropped like a leaf, lifeless on the filthy, cold ground; her personal effects scattered all around her.

"Kittens got claws, huh Tony," the other jeered, coughing, the spray still chocking him.

"Got to hell Rick! Bitch nearly scratched out my eyes."

"Oh, boo hoo! Want me to kiss for ya?"

Swooping in her purse like a vulture on a prey, the thug named Rick ripped out her wallet, savagely fingering the contents within. Spying the cash, he took it out and counted. "Two thirty nine. Not bad. She must be a lawyer."

He shoved the dough into his jacket and tossed the bag and wallet into a nearby dumpster. He then crept to the streets, checking to see if something or someone was happening in their direction.

No one.

He smirked.

The pathetic and fearful were already tucked inside their beds. It was barely eight thirty and the decent of Gotham City had had vanished like dew in the morning sun. But the onset of fear was not one side as it struck more and more as the hours grew late.

"Man, let's get the hell out of here," he cried, walking backwards, looking at every rooftop. "This neighborhood is too clean, even for me."

"Not till I find what I'm lookin' for."

"You mean her house key. Yeah, I got it. Let's roll." He cocked his head as he saw his buddy kick the woman legs apart as he started to unbuckle his belt then pants. "Hey, man, that ain't cool."

"Grow some fuckin'—" Tony's voice caught as an elusive shadow crouched low on a rooftop rose suddenly rose to a great height and descended into the alley.

* * *

Bleary eyed, mouth indescribably dry, Karen roused, pain racing through her body. Dizziness crashed into her in waves as she pushed forward into a sit, making her catch her breath in the effort. For a moment, she tried to recall where she was; then it dawned on her as she took note of the trinkets and pictures on her vanity dresser. The stuffed bear resting into the sofa chair to her right and the stack of magazines and books on the small table to her left.

She was home. Her bedroom to be exact. But how?

Quickly, she searched her thoughts. She remembered Rebecca. The South Seas Bar. The merger going through…and the heart-wrenching encounter. It played so vividly in her mind that she literally squinted to press the frightening horror away and was a welcomed to a brutal sting in her eye.

Gasping, she fingered her left eye and grunted. "Ugh, god," she groaned and forced her aching body out of bed, walking with a limp to the bathroom. She stood full view in the mirror and assessed the damage. Her eyes were black and blue, swollen, and throbbing. One of her nails was broken and the slit in her skirt was torn higher. A reddish purple welt was on her knee.

Nevertheless, her situation could've been worse, a lot worse, if not for the Batman. There was no other explanation that could rationalize how she'd come safe out of that mess. Guilt and gratitude muddled her thoughts as she peeled off her close and climbed into the shower. He had saved, yet she reviled him and his actions. But, he had saved her. Somehow she couldn't help but feel like the biggest hypocrite on the face of the planet.

Refreshed, she walked to the kitchen and made some coffee, and went to check her messages. Ten were flashing on the machine and she smiled. Rebecca was probably dying to tell her how her date was. Reality set in. It was her boss, Mr. Meyers, crazed and demanding why she wasn't at the meeting he'd advised her to be at yesterday.

Karen's eyes turned to the clock. It was nine forty-five. "Shit!" She couldn't make it. Not in her condition. She'd been mugged, well almost, but the black eye was not too appealing. She could call and explain, yet she had no doubt that would send the little man over the moon.

Racing to her bedroom, she spun out of her robe, and pulled on a grey suit. Leaving her hair down, Karen dabbed what make she could to hide her black eye, collected her brief case and purse—which sat neatly on her coffee table and left. Another act of kindness from the Batman. He had been in her home and the thought made her shudder.

A fifteen minute train ride across Gotham, she skidded through the revolving doors of Wayne Towers. Asking a security guard where the meeting between Wayne Enterprises and Trust Meyers was kept she took the elevator to the top floor and approached a receptionist.

"Excuse me, I'm here as a member of Trust Meyers," she cleared her throat.

"The meeting has already begun," replied a pretty black woman, who sat hunched over, busily writing. She lifted a hand and with a pen gripped firmly in her fingers gestured to a frosted glass door. "Go through there."

Inhaling, Karen gripped her briefcase, and steeled her nerves. As she approached, she heard Mr. Meyers through the door saying, "I'm so very sorry Mr. Wayne. I don't know what's keeping Ms. Miller. It isn't in her nature to be late. She's always the first person to arrive at work and the last to leave. I don't understand it."

"I'm sure she'll have a valid explanation once she arrives," answered Bruce and a smile grew on his face once he saw her standing at the door. "Ah, you see, here she is."

Mr. Meyers jumped out of his seat and went to meet her as members of the board turned to face the tardy woman. "Where on earth have you been?" He breathed in a deep sigh of relief. "I was beginning to think you were in an accident."

"I'm sorry, sir," she walked by his side to the area of they were to sit, "but I was mugged last night, I lost track of time, and—"

"Goodness. You were mugged."

"Yes," she sank into her seat. "But thankfully, I was liberated by a dark angel of mercy."

"The Batman came to your rescue," Mr. Meyers asked, intrigued.

"Yes, he did."

"Well, it's nice to know he's good for something," Bruce said humorously.

Karen looked directly at him. "I rather doubt it."

They locked eyes for a singular moment before her gaze flickered away. For the next hour she listened and gave input to pressing matters regarding the merger; even asking questions as to whether all employees at Trust Meyers were still secure in their jobs. To which, Mr. Wayne assured no would be losing their jobs.

"Just sign right there Mr. Wayne," said Lucius Fox, "makes it official."

With the stroke of his pen everyone in the room applauded, even Mr. Meyers couldn't contain his excitement. "Isn't this wonderful, Karen."

"Yes it is," she replied, and cleared her throat, a wave of sickness hitting her suddenly. "All we need is a little party."

"I just about to make such announcement Ms. Miller, thank you," said Bruce, "and I do hope you would be joining us for a soiree I'll be throwing at the Ritz Marlton Hotel."

"Of course we will," Mr. Meyers cried ecstatic, "won't we Karen."

She smiled. "Sounds like fun."

"Then it's settled," and with the playful clap of his hand the meeting came to a close.

Karen couldn't wait to get away. Her eye was screaming and her stomach was rolling. She felt sick and new that if didn't find a ladies restroom she was going to embarrass herself in front of everyone. She got up and made a dash for the door.

"Ms. Miller," Bruce called out after her. "Could you spare me a moment of your time?"

Her heart lurched as did her stomach. Was he going to berate her for being late? God, she hoped not. It was never intention. She prayed he would understand.

Once everyone was out of the conference room, Bruce politely asked her to take a seat. She felt a bit self-conscious being left alone with such an affluent person; and now he was her employer. She clutched her belongings; desperately tried to stay focused despite a raging headache and upset stomach.

"I just wanted to know if you were all right?" he began.

"I'm fine," she said, coughing.

Bruce situated himself on the table. "That's good. I'm glad to see you weren't harm after what's happened to you."

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne. That's really nice coming from you."

"Please, don't be afraid to ask for anything, because," He smiled, "because I'm not just your boss, I'm also a friend and—" He frowned and blinked as he saw the color in her cheeks pale and her eyes widen. "Are you alright?"

Before he had time to react, Karen had thrown up on him.


	5. Chapter IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could a man dedicated to the night have it all?

Alfred Pennyworth thought the most amusing thing, besides handing Bruce another wet cloth to clean his oxfords, was Karen. She was the same intriguing young lady who'd accompanied him to a lunch meeting yesterday morning. He was surprised when Bruce ushered her into the car and demand they head to the hospital. What could be wrong? He dare not ask until a pungent smell assaulted his nose, yet he remained silent, and listened to the whole affair.

He drove the car; fighting the desire to laugh heartedly, while he watched his young master in the rear mirror, scrub the lower half of his pants and shoes. Alfred knew he'd suffer the aftereffects when he was left to air and clean out the inside of the Rolls Royce upon their return to the Ritz Marlton Hotel; their temporary place of residence while Wayne Manor was being rebuilt, brick for brick, as Bruce declared.

Karen spoke in a harried panic. "Mr. Wayne," she reached out to help him, offering a Kleenex from her purse. "I…I'm so…sorry."

"It's fine," Bruce said grimly, seeing what he could do to salvage his custom made suit and shoes.

Sulking, she rested her head in her hand, closing her eyes. Her headache and sheer humiliation had not ceased but progressed to the back of her mind. It was to her fortune Bruce whisked her out of Wayne Tower, before anyone reentered the boardroom and inquired on the accident that left Karen completely unglued. Shame washed over her. How could she have lost control like that? Now, she was being transported to Gotham Medical Center, because her new boss wouldn't relent till he was certain she was well.

"Mr. Wayne," she protested, praying she would be able to persuade him not to make such a fuss over her. "This really isn't necessary."

"I think it is." Bruce angled his body so he could look at himself in the rear view mirror. He saw the twinkle in Alfred's eyes and glowered.

"I'm fine. All I need is a warm soak in the tub and a good night's rest."

"I'll feel more comfortable having a doctor inform me on such an assumption."

Karen curbed her temper. The man was impossible. He behaved as though he was the one in desperate need of medical attention. The whole time, in the car, he didn't look at her. But why should he? She only emptied her stomach contents on attire that most likely cost more than half her wardrobe. She watched the car take the next right and enter the one way street that led to Gotham Medical Center's emergency entrance.

When the car came to a stop, Karen scrambled out, eager to escape the haughty billionaire. He seemed to care more about his shoes than her welfare. She startled. Where did that thought come from? If she implied Bruce's attentiveness as a measure of human kindness, she would accept it, but that was a far as it would go. Not only would their relationship remain strictly professional for logistic reasons, she'd tap danced around one man for two years. She wasn't about to run out and get a new owner.

"Telephone when it's over and done with Master Bruce," Alfred said.

"Will do."

Bruce buttoned his coat and walked to Karen, who was already half way inside the ER. He grinned and shook his head. The woman amazed him. In no shape or form did she exhibit herself as a weak, teary-eyed damsel in need of a knight in shining armor. He admitted she was, at times, a little unorthodox, yet carried herself strong. She even showed up to the meeting after her assault. He started to wonder what drove her.

He glanced down at his shoes and chuckled. One of the last things he expected from their encounter. In all honesty, he was going to ask her to dinner, not receive it all over his shoes. It was the reason why he didn't immediately sign the contract yesterday. He feared what might happen. Karen would drift into Wayne Enterprises vast global market and he would never see her again. He wanted to see her, had to see her, at least one more time.

He hadn't counted on saving her life.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he wandered into the bustling ER. Karen was seated among the throng of people hoping to see a doctor sometime in the next century. An idea came to mind. Perhaps if he was able to move her to the head of the list, he might receive another one of her lovely smiles, which were rare. He headed to the receptionist and gained an exuberant smile that only came from being who he was.

Bruce Wayne.

The Prince of Gotham.

"Can I help you Mr. Wayne?" the receptionist cooed.

He grinned. "I believe you can."

He made his way to Karen. She was holding a cup of water in her hand, her expression brittle. "What did you do?" she demanded.

Bruce's mouth fell into a sheepish grin. "Whatever could you mean?"

Karen's eyes darkened. "You got me bumped to the head of the list didn't you?"

"Well…"

"Miller! Karen Miller!"

She jerked her head upwards, spying a nurse in purple scrubs holding a clipboard. She cast a scowl at Bruce, picked up her purse and rose.

"Hey, we were here first," a lady yelled somewhere off to the right.

Karen turned and glared at Bruce. "See what you've done."

"I was just trying to help," he replied, following her and the nurse down the white hallway.

"Well," she stopped, whirling around, livid. "Do me a favor. Don't help me. I'm not one of your charity cases."

"I didn't mean to offend you," Bruce said, upset his little ploy had put him on her bad side. He was simply saving her a three hour camp out in the waiting room.

Karen snorted.

Before entering an exam room, she turned and pressed her hand to his chest, barring his advancement into the room. "I think I can take it from here. Why don't you go back to the waiting room and use some of that influence to help that poor woman and her child."

She left him standing out in the hall. Her heart was pounding. She touched him. She stared at her hand as if it were a peculiar thing. She could still feel the hardness of his body beneath the layer of clothing. Her cheeks bloomed as she wondered what delicious skin lay under his jacket and tie.

"Oh, stop it Karen," she scoffed.

Just as she made herself comfortable in one of the chairs, the nurse in the purple scrub returned followed by another RN and a doctor in his mid-forties. She held back a smile. She had to hand it to the wealthy, they commanded service.

After thirty minutes of questions, poking, and a tiny flashlight beamed into her eyes, the doctor's prognosis was as exactly as she predicted. Treatment was a nice soak in a hot bath, an ice pack and anti-inflammatory medicine-basically Tylenol. Karen held back her annoyance as she observed the doctor scribbled on a note pad.

"That should do it." He handed her the prescription note.

"Thank you," she mouthed.

She folded the paper and stuffed it aimlessly into her purse. Saying her good-byes, she headed towards the waiting room. There, she found Bruce performing magic tricks to a little boy sitting in his mother's lap. The child squealed in delight when he retrieved a quarter from behind his ear, giving it to him. The boy jumped down and scampered over to the bubble gum machine. Karen's heart warmed and she tried to hide a smile. It was too late, his eyes reached her face, and he grinned.

She stiffened, tossing her head into the air. "I told you," was all she said to him as she walked to the exit. The afternoon chill hit her and she shivered, remembering she'd left her own coat in the car. She then felt a coat being draped about her shoulders and turned. "No thank you," she said.

"Take it," he said. "It's chilly out."

"If you insist." She put her arms through each sleeve and brought it around her. The coat swamped her small frame, almost reaching her knees.

"Alfred," he spoke into his Apple IPhone. "Yes, we're done."

"Mr. Wayne," Karen said, facing him.

"Bruce."

"Ugh…I don't think so." He frowned but she paid it no mind. "Again, I want to apologize for what happened."

"No need. I'm just glad to know you're okay."

She lowered her eyes. "I don't know how I'm going to work this out, but I'm just thankful that in thirty days I'll have full medical benefits."

"You don't have to worry about this," he informed. "It was my pleasure."

She looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

"I've taken the liberty of having the bill sent to me."

Karen narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Why would you do that?"

He drew back slightly. "Because…because…"

"Because you're Bruce Wayne," she said flatly. "Because you think you can do whatever you want." She took off his coat and thrust it back into his hand. By then, Alfred honked and pulled to the curb. He came out the car, circled round, and opened the door for her. Karen leaned inside and took out her coat and briefcase. "No thank you," she told Alfred. "I've decided to take the train home. Apparently, there isn't enough room for me or you're bosses' ego." She shrugged into her coat, spun on her heels, and marched down the sidewalk.

Bruce watched her go, watched as she blended into the host of citizens, before disappearing from view. Her words lacerated, cutting deep like a double edge blade. He couldn't understand it. A second ago, he saw a spark in her eyes when he was playing with the little boy, now she acted like he was a pain in her side. He should've just taken her home. If he hadn't felt so compelled to come to her rescue, again, he might still be in her good graces. He slumped into the back seat of the car and released a haggard breath.

Pulling from the curb, Alfred drove back to the hotel. "I take it all is not well with the lady."

"Nothing is ever well Alfred," Bruce moaned.

It didn't help his mood that his IPhone decided to take this appointed time to ring. The sound blared in his ears as he reached into his pocket to retrieve the gadget. "Bruce Wayne."

"Brucie, darling, where have you been?"

Bruce bolted up in his seat. "Gwendolyn?"

"I was starting to worry when you didn't call me."

Her melodious voice grated his nerve. "You told me it was over Gwen. You said you didn't want to see me again after…"

"Oh," she giggled. "You should know better than to believe everything I say. I heard the merger with Trust Meyers went swimmingly. So she was a consultant." She laughed again causing him to roll his eyes.

"Listen…Gwen…"

"Brucie, I'd love to talk some more, but I have go shopping for a gown for the party tomorrow evening." She made a smacking sound and her line went dead.

Sighing, Bruce disconnected and tossed his phone to one side. He got a pounding headache just by talking to her alone.

"Should I inform the chefs to leave parsley off the salmon, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked.

* * *

Karen poured hot water into a cup, added a peppermint teabag, and allowed it simmer for three minutes. Opening her freezer, she loaded fresh ice cubes into a bag, and wrapped it in a wash cloth. Tonight was the big gala, but she'd resigned to stay home and heal. Instead of dinning on lobster tail and caviar, sipping hundred dollar champagnes, enjoying cocktails, and networking with influential and prospective clients; a Stouffer's spaghetti and meat sauce and a glass of Arbor Mist concocted the height of fine dining.

Now, she was going to snuggled underneath a blanket, sip her tea, and probably watch a movie premiering on STARZ. She went to her bedroom to retrieve some socks and took a glance in the mirror. Her eye didn't look so bad. Thanks to the medication, the swelling had gone down considerably, yet it was still black and blue. It was bad enough she trumpeted into Wayne Towers looking like someone's punching bag. No way was she going to an exclusive gala surrounded by Gotham's elite with this eye.

She tried to call Rebecca but sadly got her answering machine. She didn't unveil in so many words the reasons why she wasn't going; simply that she didn't feel good. She tugged on her socks, headed to the living room, and sank into her couch. She flicked through several of the premium channels and blew in her cup of tea. She finally settled on an old favorite. Fanny, starring Leslie Caron. A delightful tale from the 1960's about love, shockingly teen pregnancy, and reunion.

Lifting the ice pack, she leaned back into the cushions, resting it on her eye. Damn did it feel good. She took a breath when she removed it. This black eye wasn't the true reason she was hiding at home. She was avoiding Bruce Wayne. She knew she'd insulted him with her harsh tongue. She saw it in his eyes. "God I'm such a jerk," she grumbled, finishing the rest of her tea. "He was just trying to be nice and I…"

She turned her head to the sound of a knock on her door. Growling, she set her cup on the coffee table and heaved out the sofa. "Coming," she cried, when the knocks became more persistent. She stood on her toes and peered through the hole. "Great," she sighed.

Karen opened the door to a blond woman looking extremely vexed. Her eyes traced over Rebecca dressed head to toe in radiance. "You look lovely."

Rebecca folded her arms crossly. "What do mean you're not going tonight?"

Karen chuckled. "So you got my message." She withdrew into her apartment and went to the kitchen to make more tea.

"Yes." Rebecca closed the door and followed her to the kitchen. "Why aren't you going?"

"It's a long story," she sighed, pouring some honey into the cup.

Rebecca tossed her clutch purse onto the counter. "I'm not going anywhere in the next ten minutes."

"All right." Karen rotated and pushed her hair out of her face, allowing the bright light to shine on what she tried to hide for two days.

"Holy god what happened to you!"

"Like I said," she sipped her tea. "Long story."

Rebecca's face was one of pure excitement and horror. She'd sat listening to Karen recount all that had transpired in the last thirty-six hours. "You vomited all over Bruce Wayne!"

"Now you know my shame," Karen said.

Her good friend rose to her feet. "And the Batman," she cried. You actually saw him."

"Not exactly." Karen ran her hand along the smooth surface of the counter. "I was barely conscious. I didn't get a good look at his face, such as there is. He does wear a mask."

"Why did you go to the meeting?"

"Because I'm an idiot."

"I'll say."

Glaring, Karen scrubbed her cup and put it in the dish wrack. "Thanks for sticking the knife deeper into my back."

"What?" Rebecca reeled back, her hand pressed to her chest. "Honesty doesn't count in this conversation."

"No."

"Well, as much as I like to feel sorry for you, hold your hand, a gala has just started fifteen minutes ago. So, I suggest you go throw on the one black dress every woman has in her closet and come."

Karen shook her head. "Didn't you hear what I said?"

"I heard you."

"Beck, I can't go looking like this."

She smiled sheepishly, a hand to her hip. "That's why the expert is here?"

"No," Karen said timidly. "I can't face Mr. Wayne, not after what happened, what I said."

Rebecca arched an eyebrow. "Said?"

"Another long story."

"Just how many long stories with Bruce Wayne are there?"

"This is the last one I promise," Karen laughed.

Rebecca walked into the kitchen. "Are you scared to face him again?"

"I'm not scared. I just don't want to go."


	6. Chapter V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could a man dedicated to the night have it all?

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Karen muttered to Rebecca who stood to her left hand side. A perfect shield to the blemish she didn't want any of the photographers buzzing outside the Ritz Marlton Hotel to snap.

She adjusted her black chiffon gown and kept her head low. Rebecca had styled her hair and assured her cosmetic tricks would hide the bruise. Still, she worried and was self-conscious about seeing Bruce again.

"Just smile pretty for the camera," Rebecca said under breath when a photographer snapped her image.

"I'll smile when this bruise is gone."

"Oh, stop complaining. You look absolutely fabulous. You can barely notice you got hit in the face."

Karen made a face. "Thanks for the boost in my confidence."

They entered the lavish lobby of the Ritz Marlton Hotel. Karen hadn't forgotten the extravagant décor that had taken her breath away days ago. A giant water fountain bubbled in the center of the enormous foyer. Before them was a grand staircase made of the finest marble; a ruby red carpet flowed down the center. Glittering from the ceiling was a gigantic crystal chandelier.

Off to the right was the infamous restaurant, where Bruce took a huge plunge in the indoor pool with his boy toys, upsetting the Maître' D, resulting in the purchase of the hotel a year ago. Karen rolled her eyes. She only remembered that night because she was having dinner in the restaurant with Steven at the time.

"Karen, quick, there's room for one more!" She turned sharply and saw Rebecca on the elevator crammed with women dressed in chic gowns and men wearing tuxedos. They must be the party heading up to the penthouse for the gala. Picking up the skirt of her dress, Karen hopped across the lobby, but someone else beat her to the elevator.

"Do you mind," Rebecca scolded.

"It's okay Beck, I'll catch the next one."

"Alright, see you upstairs," she waved as the doors slid shut.

Karen touched the button and waited for the lift to return. A high pitch laugh in the distance drew her attention. Several feet away, she saw Bruce Wayne entering the hotel with the very same, obnoxious woman from their lunch meeting.

Gwendolyn Harris's gold Versace gown was as vibrant as the smile she gave him. Karen frowned. She thought they'd called it quits. She also didn't register why the sight of the red head on his arm suddenly bothered her.

She swiftly turned in her shoes and pounded the button into the wall. "Come on," she pleaded, not wanting to face Bruce. A chime resounded as the doors parted. She slipped inside and selected the button to the penthouse.

"Hold the elevator," she heard him call out. Karen ignored his request and pressed the button for the umpteenth time. "Close, please." Bruce was a few steps away when doors started to close. She took a breath in relief but gasped as an arm stretched inside causing the doors to retract.

"Ms. Miller," Bruce said in surprise.

"Mr. Wayne, I'm sorry," she lied. "I tried to stop the door but…"

"It's fine." His eyes swept down the length of her and she burned inside. "You look lovely. Gwen, you know Karen Miller from the other day. She's the consultant from Trust Meyers."

"Now it's Wayne and Meyers." Karen forced a joke and he grinned. "It's nice to meet you." She stretched out a hand to take the heiress's cold claw.

"Charmed," Gwen said, bristly and yanked back her hand. She laid it on Bruce's chest and narrowed her eyes. Karen felt her scrutiny stab into her like tiny needle pricks and shifted to watch the numbers light and climb. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gwen plant a juicy kiss on Bruce's lips and clenched her hands.

"I love you," Gwen cooed.

Swallowing, Karen kept her eyes glued to the door. In her heart, she was praying fervently, but the ride to the rooftop was slow as death. As they approached the penthouse, Karen could hear music and laughter filter into the elevator. A heavenly aroma of food wetted her lost appetite. The doors eventually opened to a gilded room. A tiny orchestra was playing off to the right.

"It's lovely Brucie," Gwen chirped in glee. "But what's with all the red roses."

"I didn't have your divine fashion sense to aid in the decorating," he smiled then turned to Karen. "I hope you have a good time."

She nodded. "Thank you, I will," and looked to Gwen. "Again, it was nice to meet you."

Gwen faked a smile and waved.

Eager to escape, Karen weaved into the throng of guests. A waiter passing her, she took a wineglass by the stem, downing the crisp bubbly in three gulps. Surveying to social scene, she searched for Rebecca; alas, she was nowhere to be found. Sighing, she took another glass and moved about the room. She met up with a few of her co-workers, yet among these wealthy entrepreneurs, heiress, and trust fund princesses, they were outsiders.

She spotted Bruce chit-chatting with Mr. Meyers, his wife Carol, and their grown son, Richard. Gwendolyn was fused to his arm, giggling and pawing him as if he were her pet. It was then he looked her way. The penetrating depths of his hazel eyes made her tremble. His mouth pulled into a dashing smile causing her to do nothing but return the pleasant expression. Heat rushed to her cheeks and she lowered her gaze.

Wandering to the buffet table, she spooned some Beluga caviar onto a cracker. The salted roe of fish eggs tantalized her taste buds. "It's the best thing in the world," she heard someone say and spun around.

"Steven," she squeaked, staring at a tall, handsome man cupping a glass of red wine. She choked down the remains of the hors d'oeuvre. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged, "The same as you sweetheart networking."

"This gala is for associates of Trust Meyers and executives of Wayne Enterprises," she said tersely. "How did you get in here?"

Steven kept his face planted on Karen, a smile curling his pout lips. "You always did look fabulous in that gown." He reached out, stroking the neckline of her dress, caressing a bit of skin. She recoiled and glared at him. He smirked. "I can remember the last time you wore it."

"Spare me," she said flatly. "Answer the question."

Holding his glass, he pointed to the far side of the room. "That delightful creature over there was my ticket inside," he looked at Karen. "Lovely isn't she?"

Karen turned bright red, her eyes blazing. "You brought Beth to the gala."

He grinned. "Actually, she brought me. I had my heart set on going with you, but you declined."

"As I recall I broke up with you."

Steven pretended to think. He sipped and swished his wine in his mouth. "Right," he swallowed then smiled. "Oh, Karen, are you still bitter?"

Glowering, she crossed her arms; anger simmering to surface of her face. "Liberated, actually."

"Sure," he smirked, taking in her full features. "I heard you had a date with Bruce Wayne."

"It was business," she corrected. "We were discussing the merger."

"Really," he cackled. "The papers seemed to declare otherwise, which explains why the eligible Ms. Gwendolyn Harris has been firing hot darts at you all evening." He eased his gaze back to the radiant woman clinging to Bruce Wayne.

Karen let out a breath. Utterly annoyed. "You of all people Steven should know better than to believe what you read in the tabloids." Taking up her drink, she proceeded to blend into the multitude of guest, hoping he would take the hint and leave her alone. He did not.

"I know that and you know that," he cackled, wearing on her nerves. "But does Miss Harris know that. Do you think she sees you as a threat in her quest to becoming Mrs. Bruce Wayne?"

"She has no reason to fret, because there is nothing for her to fear." She cast a forlorn look at Bruce. "He's made his decision."

Steven saw her expression alter subtly and was intrigued by the change in her demeanor. He decided to take advantage in repentance of his crushed ego. Karen had wounded his pride by cutting their relationship to an end first. "And a fine one in deed. They do make a lovely couple." He came to stand beside her. "Everyone else in the room agrees don't you?"

Karen turned her face to him and narrowed her eyes. He assessed her with cold, unblinking pupils. He was baiting her. She could always tell by the twist at the edge of his lips. Rather than succumb to his cruel mockery, she set her drink down and departed.

She walked on swift legs, while stopping to ask a caterer where the nearest restroom was. To her astonishment, the gentleman turned out to be Alfred. "Yes, Ms. Miller. It's through that door, straight down the hall, make right and it's the third door on you're right."

"I pray I'll find it." She whispered, giving him a weak smile, and hurried away.

"Karen!" Rebecca called out merrily. She came through the crowd, beaming; an arm looped through Bob's, who apparently was her escort for the evening. "I've been looking all over for you." She appraised her quickly, distress crinkling the corners of her eyes, a though sensing an undeniable pain in her friend her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Karen fibbed, battling the tears desperately wanting to break free. "I have to go to the ladies room. We'll talk when I get back."

"Okay," replied Rebecca anxiously and watched Karen as she fled the party.

* * *

"Enjoying the view?"

Startled, Karen jumped, devastated to find Bruce filling the doorway. The light from the hallway and the dark, empty room completely enveloped him in polar light and darkness.

"Mr. Wayne," she gasped, embarrassed to have been caught unawares. Her heart thundered to shuffling sound of footsteps and she swallowed hard when his face gradually emerged in the muted light seeping through the window. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stray away from the party. I just needed to clear my head."

"Please," he said. "Be my guest. I often come here myself when I want to be alone." He turned about the large, vacant room, before resting his gaze on Karen and smiling. "It appears you've found my hiding place."

"I would hardly call this room a hiding place," she said, taking in its sheer space and black marble flooring. In front of them was not just one little square window but a gigantic pane of glass stretching ceiling to floor, wall to wall, bestowing a magnificent view of the city. "It's half the size of my apartment."

"I could imagine that."

'Cynicism. Wonderful.'

Making a face, she turned her eyes to the city. Bruce came to stand next to her. Her pulse quickened but she remained relatively cool. "It's so peaceful. You'd hardly know it was Gotham City to look at it." She raised her eyes to meet his face, the dark obscurity chiseling a hard edge.

"You look sad."

He fixed his gaze on her. Karen was glad the night invading the room concealed the rouge glowing on her cheeks. There was no denying the fact he was extremely handsome. He was an equal to Steven, yet there was a kindness root her ex did not possess.

"Irritated."

She frowned. "By what?"

"Everything."

"I can't imagine," she said simply. "Then I suppose there is a great deal of responsibility in being who you are."

"And what is that?"

Karen thought a moment. "If you don't know that then you're in trouble."

"I know who I am."

He sounded upset yet she meant no offense. Her tongue worked faster than her brain always dragging her into tight situations. "I didn't come here to offend you, again." She dropped her eyes to floor, sighing. "I wanted to apologize, but it seems that I've failed in that attempt."

Bruce cocked his head slightly to the right. "Apologize?"

"For what I said and how I behaved at the hospital." She lifted her head, smiling faintly. "You were trying to be nice to me and I was rude."

He grinned. "Not so much as rude, but brutally honest."

"It's a nasty habit of mine."

He inched his head closer to her face. "I wouldn't have it any other way," his voice low and husky.

Karen's heart leapt. Bruce was so close she could almost taste to wine on his lips. The room began to grow indescribably hot. Shivering, she took an agitated step back, forcing a smile. "I think I'm keeping you away from you're guest."

"Are you referring to half the people I don't know or the other half who desire to be seen shaking my hand?"

She merrily shrugged. "Depends."

"Depends on what?" he asked.

"On whom you consider your friends."

Bruce let out short laugh. "If that's the case I could only count two." He said as Lucius Fox and Alfred, his faithful, loving friend and butler came to mind.

Mouth shaping into a lovely smile, she laughed. "That's all you really need."

"Actually, I was planning to add another name, but, she's giving me one hell of a time."

Karen bit back a smile. "To become a friend of mine is no easy picnic," she implied sardonically.

"So I see."

An awkward pause was soon interrupted by the whimsical gaiety of gala. Music and laughter floated into the barren room. Nevertheless neither Bruce nor Karen felt inclined to return to the festivities. "May I ask you a profound question," she asked. Her inquisitive nature was hounded by a thought that left her no peace since the merger.

"Hasn't stopped you before."

"Why Trust Meyers? Why merge with such a small, faceless company? There were so many other consulting firms, huge cooperation that would love to be tied to Wayne Enterprises."

Bruce looked down at her face, seeing no derision, but sincerity glowing in the azure depths of her eyes. A strange sensation grew in the pit of his stomach; a warmth he'd only experienced as a boy stirred. He couldn't trace it but there was something about Karen. Something that felt like home. "Do you hold so little faith in the investment I've made in Trust Meyers?"

"I didn't mean like that?" Karen clarified. "Trust Meyers is a wonderful consulting firm, you'll make good on your investment."

"It's not about making a profit."

"I didn't meant that either."

Bruce grinned. "Well," he shoved his hands into his pockets, letting out a breath. "Trust Meyers possesses the honesty, integrity, and family value Wayne Enterprises lacks. For years Mr. Earle, members of the board, have strayed from my father's vision when he first stated the company. I wish re-establish trust and communication, also, with smaller businesses that see our multi-international company as a threat."

"Hmm," she hummed.

He arched a brow inquisitively. "What?"

"Nothing," she answered. "Just my opinions of you are steadily changing."

"For the best," he laughed.

The sound of her laughter brightened his smile. It wasn't brash, but soft and very feminine. Bruce couldn't remember when last he enjoyed a woman's company, which didn't lead to sexual rendezvous on his private yacht or cabin up in the mountains.

Karen, as luck would have it, was different. Not to say he didn't find her attractive, she was appealing to the eye. But she wasn't like any other woman he'd ever met. Women, who hoped to gain status and recognition simply because they were dating him. Karen, on the other hand, wanted nothing to do with him. It was a minor blow to his ego and, surprisingly, a breath of fresh air.

As he shifted one foot to the other, a gleam of like streaking the sky captured his attention. It pierced the black clouds, shaping a signal, before disappearing in the blink of an eye. Mouth grim, he turned as Karen spoke. "Is something wrong?"

He shook his head. "Not a thing. Why?"

"You just look like you saw a ghost that's all."

"No. I'm fine."

Someone cleared their throat. Turning, they saw Alfred standing in the doorway. "Begging your pardon Master Bruce," he said. "But there is an urgent telephone call for you in the study."

"Thank you Alfred." He looked at Karen. "If you would excuse me Ms. Miller."

"Not at Mr. Wayne," she walked to the door. "I have to find Barbara. She must be angry with me by now." Exchanging a smile with Alfred, she made her way back to the party. She looked around and found Barbara standing on the large terrace.

"Where have you been?" Rebecca demanded, angrily. "You told me you'd be back in a few minutes."

Karen decided to tell her friend about her encounter with Steven rather than her interesting conversation with Bruce Wayne.

"That slimy piece of crap! Where is he?"

"Not so fast Beck, there're too many witness."


	7. Chapter VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could a man dedicated to the night have it all?

Lieutenant James Gordon, of the Gotham City Police Department, waited three more seconds, before switching off the power generator fueling the huge spotlight, discreetly hidden on the rooftop. Crushing an empty Styrofoam cup originally filled with stale coffee, he tossed it over the side, and picked a file he had in his possession, and strode towards the door.

He, the Batman, wasn't coming.

Should he expect a man dressed in a Halloween costume to be punctual, not to mention, consistent? Heavens knows what he was thinking joining forces with someone who belonged within the padded walls of Arkham Asylum.

If exposed he too would find himself bound in a strait jacket, rocking side to side, ranting and raving. Nevertheless, this unspoken partnership somehow benefited both men. The Batman would go places he couldn't tread without having the whistle blown, and he, in turn, would ensure efficient court dates and clean judges.

Judge Fayden crept into his mind.

His removal from the Superior Court bench was more than what Gotham needed. At last, the people had a chance to a fair and honest trial, and his disgrace was a warning to other judges. Hearing the flap of cloth in the wind, Jim paused and glanced behind his shoulder. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he proceeded towards the interior of the station, anxious to get out of the cold.

He cried his heartbeat elevating upon sight of a dark foreboding figure crouched high on a wall. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"You shouldn't litter." The Batman said in a low howl.

"So now you're environmentalist," Jim snorted, taking a few steps to the Dark Knight. "I would ask where you've been, but I suppose I won't receive an answer."

"You've assumed correctly."

A sense of humor.

He didn't know it to look at the mysterious person with a taste for theatricality and soaring off rooftops. He tried to factor what drove a man to such lengths, and fearfully, he dared not ask. He mind was jumbled, overloaded by car payments, braces, departmental pay cuts, a police force riddled in corruption, and city falling to pieces. He had too many woes to strap another to his back.

"Enough with the preliminaries," he said and opened the yellow folder in his hand and held out a black and white photo.

"The departments got a lucky break. An escapee from Arkham Asylum just resurfaced in the city. Victor Zsaz. You remember him. He was, formerly, a hit man for Carmine Falcone. But with Falcone out the scene, he's hired himself out as an independent contractor. He's been spotted in the Narrows, wayside docks, most recently in the Blue Bayou, a snazzy little nightclub on Fifth and Third Avenue. Rumors float around that there's prostitution, drugs, racketeering…the whole nine yards."

He raised his eyes to summit where the Batman had resided and his face pulled into a frown. "And I'm talking to myself again." Letting out a small sigh, fogging the air, Gordon closed the folder, and stared out into the city.

* * *

Steven McGrath entertained Beth's suggestion of returning to his apartment to end off their evening. It had been a while since he resided in the company of a beautiful, eligible woman, and Beth was to his taste; thin, gorgeous, and absolutely willing to surrender to his passions.

But she lacked ideals and didn't she have any opinion on the upcoming D.A. election. She wasn't at all like Karen, who was much to his regret, a splendid conversationalist. What she was best at was talking about herself; chatting on and on about the latest fashion and trends she probably couldn't afford, lipstick, and make-put. Most importantly, she had a bizarre intimate knowledge of Bruce Wayne.

Rankled and annoyed as she jabbered on about the rich creep, he turned east into a prominent section of Gotham City, while doing every mental exercise he knew to drown out her voice, yet she managed to pierce through the veil of his extreme focus. Her foolish babble and giggles made him clench his hands around the steering wheel.

He had to keep his cool, before banishing the thought of sleeping with her, opting to throw her out into the street. He played the card, forced a smile, laughed at her inane stories at appointed times, while his eyes remained fused to the road.

"What now," he mumbled, his Blackberry Storm vibrating in his pocket. A switch of hands to the steering wheel, his right hand dove into his coat, retrieving a sleek, black cellular, and pressed it to his ear. "Steven McGrath."

He took mental not of the voice on the other end and frowned. Wrenching hard to the right, the tires screeched as his Mercedes CL Coupe veered off the road, and came to heart staggering halt.

"Aahh!…Steven…what are you…!"

He held up a hand to silence her protest. "Yes. Right. I'll be there in one half hour." He pressed a button and shoved his phone inside of his coat. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to call our even short."

Beth cast him a look of alarm. "W-what? Why?"

"Business," he said, eventually looking at her with dismissive eyes, tipping his head. "Now, get out!"

"B—but Steven?"

"OUT!"

Filled with fear, Beth obediently unlocked the car door, adjusted her gown to climb out the vehicle. "How am I supposed to get home?" she demanded holding the door open.

"Take the train." Steven barked, right before he leaned over to wrench the door shut.

"You bastard!" Beth screamed, watching in sheer outrage as the vehicle powered down the road, leaving her in the dust.

* * *

The Amoré was closed to the public, but not to those seeking business with its owner. As Steven made his way to back of the copious establishment two men donned in black fell in line to his steps; one in front the other behind him.

Steven clenched his fist, disgusted by these security measures. He always had to endure them, and knew exactly why he had to make an impromptu visit. A byproduct of the Narrows, Steven struggled for most of his life to rid himself of all traces tying him to rotting core of Gotham. However, insufficient funds for college, had forced him to seek aid from the lowliest of men. An act of desperation he'd come to regret.

Nicholas Pannelli grinned as he entered the kitchen quarter. He was standing behind one of the numerous counters, his large, hairy hands molding ground beef into meatballs. He had a passion for cooking, and always took delight in preparing one or two dishes for his customers. Several chefs were busy cleaning, while a busboy mopped the grease off the floor.

Unlike Falcone, Nicholas Pannelli wasn't entirely a diabolical menace, a great threat in Gotham City. He started out a street hustler at age fifteen, after a time, swiftly rose to the head of his own criminal enterprise, controlling a minor section of Gotham. The cops buzzed around like flies, but didn't strive to burn him alive in court. Not yet. It was for this reason, Steven, a byproduct of the impoverished Narrows had chosen to seek his aid, funding for college.

A mistake he wished he could rectify.

"Lay off the Armani suit," Steven barked, slapping Ian Merricks' hands, a body guard who'd become too free in his search for a concealed weapon or wire taps. The larger male flashed deadly scowl then diminished into the far ground of the kitchen. "I told you never to call my cell phone. I don't want any of your calls documented."

"Is that how you greet an old friend?" Nicholas Pannelli dropped another meatball into a bowl and tore off another piece of grounded animal flesh, massaging it between his thick fingers. His bushy eyebrows freckled with grey pinched together in concentration, his forehead furrowed into deep wrinkles, proclaiming his age.

Steven tightened his mouth in disdain. His cobalt eyes, cold, unfriendly. "We were never friends Pannelli."

"Oh, come now. Haven't I always looked out for you, ensured you're Professors gave you the extra time needed to finish you're papers. I kept you looking sweet and pretty in one of my apartment buildings."

The old mob boss mopped the back of his hand across his forehead. The kitchen was stifling; stoves and ovens switched off for the day were slowly cooling down. Although, the AC was blasted at full max, the heat of the kitchen was oppressing. Nicholas stretched out a furry arm, his wrist adorned with gold, chain link bracelet, to wrap his huge hand around a goblet of wine.

"Obviously, you didn't summon me to trade words on the past," Steven said, shifting his stature, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

"No," Pannelli smacked thin lips, relishing the taste of the fermented wine, and went back to task of creating the perfect meatball. One of the cooks offered to take the work off his hands but he declined.

A descendant of the old country, he was meticulous about Italian food. Too many of his chefs tend to rush through ingredients or the preparation.

"I want to know if you had any success in digging up any information that could be useful to me."

"Sadly, no," sighed Steven. His shoved his hands into his designer pants, looking utterly bored. "The Batman interfered right before the two men I hired could get their hands on her house keys."

Pannelli choked suddenly, a serious case of Emphysema swelling his lungs. Steven's mouth worked in a cruel grin. If only the old fool would just die, then he would liberated; the debt that had him shackled to a ball and chain would fade away.

"Don't wish me dead yet boy." Pannelli growled as struggled to breathe and elbowed an employee in the side when the fool failed to come to his assistance. His black eyes glittered, catching the sly expression on the younger man's face. Steven simply shrugged his shoulders, his look revealing nothing but the sheer hatred he had for the man.

"The Batman! How could you screw up so badly?"

"I'm not psychic," Steven cried, enraged the old hood would blame him for the Batman's meddling. "I can't predict when and where that freak will strike. I can't help the fact he's causing…problems…for you and you're kind."

"A problem for me is a problem for you. Remember that boy-o." Ian grunted.

"Thank you for reminding me." Steven narrowed his eyes at the burly muscle and flesh behind. "Karen Miller's ties to Aaron Powers may be genetic, but there's no emotional attachment. She never knew the bastard. Even if I'd managed to apprehend keys to her apartment, there's no guarantee I'd find anything that would pinpoint the whereabouts of your dubious ex-partner. He was wise to cover his tracks and has made no effort to contact his only daughter."

A hateful scowl lined Pannelli's lips, the lust for vengeance swilling his veins. Aaron Powers still taunted him like the half eaten calzone resting on a plate beside his wine. Millions of dollars. That's how much his former partner had stolen right underneath his nose without batting an eye.

Chartering a flight out of the Gotham, Powers slipped through the cracks, disappearing for more than five years. Lost, with no trail start, Nicholas Pannelli had all but given up. Then uncovering a letter he found of Power's old flame and a photocopy of a birth certificate sealed his chance at retribution setting a ruthless plan into action. By intimidating Power's daughter, he might be able to lure his old friend back to Gotham.

Steven studied the old hood. His silence a clear forewarning of some malicious scheme he was now setting into motion. Steven felt his heart twist into a knot. What unforeseen danger lay in store for Karen?

His discovery of her criminal heritage had been somewhat alarming. It explained where she got her stubborn nature and dark wit and ruthless business sense. It was bad enough he hired men to attack her. He told those fools not to lay a hand on her. Instructions were take her purse and run. He realized things had gotten a little rough after noticing the bruise she'd cleverly concealed on her eye.

His throat closed. He still loved Karen, still cared about her. If things were different, they would've been married. If he was different but he was too set in ways that disturbed her and forced her to pack up and flee.

"Look," he coughed, pretending ignorance. "Whoever it is you're after just leave Karen out of it. I've already done enough damage. I don't want to see her hurt."

Pannelli gave him a look that sent chills up his spine. "After everything…you still love her?"

"Yeah I do," Steven seethed never liking to discuss his personal life with the mob boss. "And if you don't want what I have to fall into the hands of the police, you'll seek out Aaron Powers by another boat."

Pannelli glared at him. "Are you threatening me?"

"I don't have to."

* * *

An Asian servant poured freshly squeezed orange juice into a glass, then clipped a single red rose, and placed it in a slender vase. Folding a newspaper into thirds, he tucked it neatly on the tray then picked it up to carry the silver platter out the kitchen. He headed down the hall, crossing a spacious sitting room, opening large French doors, stepping out to a large terrace.

"Good morning sir," he said, placing a tray in front a man seated at a round glass table.

Aaron Powers stared at the Eiffel Tower. The immense structure was of iron and stood over a thousand feet high. An icon of France, the tower was a glorious wonder to see at night. Gazing at the structure, Aaron thought of Audrey, and how wonderful it could have been to bring her here to live. Sighing heavily, he turned in his seat, smiling up at his manservant.

"Morning Chang." He unfolded the napkin and placed it on his lap. "It smells wonderful, thank you."

Bowing, Chang departed to see to other matters around the household. Aaron took a bite on a warm croissant and opened his newspaper. He breezed through the local section, turning to the international page.

Every now and then he would see a paragraph or two on Gotham's raging crime epidemic. It was like a contagious disease that could not be contained. And sadly, he had been a part of it. However, most interestingly, an eerie presence had arisen, and had sworn to tackle the criminal underworld.

The Batman.

Fascinated, Aaron read the entire insert on his tactics. He'd become more intrigued with the Dark Knight the day he single-handedly apprehended Carmine Falcone. "So the Batman snags himself another hood," he said in amusement.

Flipping the page, he found the business section. There was an article on the merger between Wayne Enterprises and Trust Meyers, topped off by a spectacular gala on the rooftop of the Ritz Marlton Hotel.

His heart nearly leapt out of his chest upon sight of the black white photo. It was the image of woman wearing a black dress and standing next to another woman. She appeared to be dodging to camera, for head was slightly down and a hand was to her face.

Aaron stirred in his seat. It was Karen, his daughter.

Like it? Hate it? Please review. They mean a lot.

 


	8. Chapter VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could a man dedicated to the night have it all?

"Looks like you're settled in." Karen spun around to see Rebecca standing in the doorway of her new office, a brilliant on her face, "and you finished unpacking when I was just coming to help you."

"It wasn't much, really," said Karen, dusting a picture frame bearing her diploma from Gotham University, and hung it on the wall. "Besides, I was expecting to be gridlocked in another cubicle."

She took a step back to admire it before glancing in Rebecca's direction. Her friend was already touring the spacious room in great interest. A large mahogany desk complete with a high back leather chair sat in front of an extraordinary view of the city. On top of the broad flat surface were a high HP desktop, 25 inch wide-screen monitor, and printer. Pictures and plants from home added zest to the once barren office.

Karen suspected there would be some interesting developments the morning she officially started work at Wayne Enterprises. She never imagined she would be given a corner office and heading an entire division in Mr. Meyers stead while he sat on the board.

"You worked hard for this. If anyone deserves a boost to their career it's you."

"Much to the chagrin of Steven I bet," Karen replied. "He's always had a problem with women far more driven than he was, and successful too. It's partly the reason we fell apart."

"As much as I like to dive into that dark history, and how that snake slithered into the gala the other night, an empty stomach isn't something one should ignore."

Karen giggled.

Breaking down a cardboard box, she tucked it in a corner beside the door. She would remember to take it with her to dispose in the recycling bin when she went home. "Alright, where would you like to go for lunch?"

"Our usual spot at the Rosary Garden," said Rebecca. "Bob canceled, unfortunately, so it's just the two of us today, but he'll meet us at the tonight for dinner. I have a taste for Italian and he knows this great Italian restaurant where their food selection is quite exquisite. Jill and Eric will also be joining us."

"Oh, how are your daughter and her husband? I haven't seen them since the wedding."

"They're fine. Jill says she has something important to tell me."

Karen smiled. "I wonder what that could mean."

Rebecca's eyes were a glow, her cheeks ruddy. She sank into one of the two chairs placed before Karen's desk. "I know. She's done the abominable thing and transformed me into a grandmother. A grandmother! Me! Do I look like a grandmother to you?"

"You don't look a day past thirty-five."

"Exactly," Rebecca clarified with a flick in her wrist. "Grandmothers are old. They knit and sew and tell stories of the Great Depression."

Propped on her desk, Karen listened as Rebecca immediately started to make arrangements to an impending baby shower. She asked Karen to jot down her ideas on a notepad and add any thoughts might pop into her head. "I wonder if we can get a ballroom in the Skylight Hotel. They have the best catering service and staff."

"Very expensive don't you think and we can't be sure it's a baby."

"I'm never wrong. I know it's a baby."

"Baby?"

Gasping, the women turned their heads sharply to stare at the open doorway. The expression on Bruce Wayne's face was priceless. Heart quickening, Karen averted her eyes, rising to take her coat off the rack. She could feel the intensity of his gaze on her back, which made her tremble all the more.

She hadn't seen him since their little talk at the gala. At the most, he'd been tying loose ends to the merger, having luncheons with other men of his stature, and had received several invitations including one from Harvey Dent. The hard hitting lawyer, spouting ideas of tough justice, was gaining a staggering lead in the D.A. election.

Turning, she was once again struck by the look on his face; confusion intermingle with harsh resentment seem to glow in his hazel-green eyes. Karen closed her eyes slowly knowing he'd stumbled in on her and Rebecca's conversation and misunderstood.

"I'm sorry," he said rather quickly. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"It's fine Mr. Wayne," Rebecca said. "Karen and I was just discussing what we hope would be a grandchild."

"Grandchild?"

"Yes, my daughter Jill called me earlier. She and her husband said they have news." Her eyes twinkled. "It's a baby, I know it is. A mother's intuition is never wrong."

Bruce grinned while he tried to hide his relief. Nevertheless, Karen saw the roll in his shoulder as he released a breath, and simply shook her head. Did he believe she was pregnant? And if so, why had it bothered him?

"Is there something I can help you with Mr. Wayne?" Karen asked.

Bruce stared at her in a wide eyed uncertainty that brought a tiny smile to her lips. Then, as if recalling why he'd ventured into her office, spoke. "Oh…I was going to ask if you'd like to join me for lunch…sort of a mini toast to your promotion. Plus, I'd like to hear any ideas you may have on running this division."

"But I thought I'd still be reporting to Mr. Meyers," said Karen. The very thought of working in close proximity to Bruce Wayne sparked emotions she long believed was dead.

His mouth bloomed into a dashing smile and she trembled. "You will be, but I'll be checking in every now and then." He took a step to her. "Is that alright with you?"

"It's fine," Karen replied, but her response sounded like a gasp for air. She turned suddenly, picking up her purse. "As for lunch, I'm sorry Mr. Wayne, but I'll have to cancel. For as you can see Barbara is my lunch date for this afternoon."

Out of nowhere, the older woman let out shriek. Reaching into her purse, she flashed her cell phone, pretending to receive a text message from her loving companion. "It's Bob," Rebecca said with an air of excitement. "He can meet me after all. Sorry darling, but I have to make a rain check." She turned to the billionaire and gave him a prominent smile. "She's all yours Mr. Wayne."

Mortified, Karen watched her friend leap out her seat, and skip out of her office. Perspiration licked her skin. She twisted around and was instantly captivated by the softness of Bruce's kind eyes. He stretched out a hand. "Shall we?"

* * *

A delighted Alfred was happy to see Karen again. He wasn't sure why, but, there was something about the woman that gave him a glint hope. Hope for his young master, whose preoccupation with saving Gotham City was beginning to wear him down. He didn't know if could stomach another night of nursing bruises; bandaging wounds that without a few days rest would run infected. Grimacing, he greeted them as they stepped off the private elevator with a warm smile.

"Master Wayne, ah Ms. Miller. It's lovely to see you again."

Karen shook the butler's hand. "You too Alfred. At least we're not racing to the hospital this time."

He laughed a hearty laugh. "Precisely. If you would excuse me, I must see about lunch."

Utterly amazed, Karen walked about the grand apartment. It seem somewhat different with furniture far too pricy for her pocket. Bruce yanked off his coat and flung over the back of a sofa. "What are we having?"

"Veal, sir."

"Oh," she groaned.

Bruce looked her way, frowning. "Something wrong?"

"No," her eyes drooped a bit. "It's just…I read so many bad things over net about what they do to the calves…I couldn't…"

"Well, perhaps, I could whip up a nice salad for the lady." Alfred said.

"Thank you, that would be lovely."

When he disappeared to prepare their lunch, Karen felt Bruce's eyes on her. She angled her head to see him reclining against a wall. By then, his tie accompanied his jacket on the white sofa, and the top button of his shirt was loose. Sleeves rolled up, he looked completely relaxed in his element, and ultimately gorgeous. Irresistible. A paradox of sin and sexuality. Biting her lip, Karen searched for words, but her tongue was cleaved to the roof of her mouth. She wrenched open her coat, flapping it madly.

"Hot."

"What?" she cried whirling around, staring at him in total alarm.

He grinned. "Are you hot?"

She blushed, chuckling, curling a strand of hair behind her ear. "I thought…yes…I…"

"Then why don't you take off your coat." She looked at him timidly. His words came out so softly she thought someone else had whispered them. She observed as he pushed from the wall and cross the distance between their bodies. Heat rose in her skin with each step he took and she closed her eyes to fend off the sensation coiling in her stomach.

She felt his fingers brush her throat tenderly and shivered. "Let me help you," he said, drawing the coat down and away from her body. The rush of cool air made her catch her breath as she turned on her tip toes, awkwardly laying some space linking them in close quarters. "Is that better?"

Karen nodded, touching her neck, the skin there still tingling.

"Good." Bruce folded her coat and laid it next to his own. He then met her gaze in a penetrating stare. She appeared so agitated; he believed she would take a flight out the window. He didn't want her to feel nervous in his presence, but wished her to be calm and relaxed. He wanted her trust, most importantly, he desired her friendship.

She swallowed and searched for anything to pull his mind from whatever it was he was thinking. "Van Gogh," she said regarding a painting hanging over a fireplace.

Bruce tossed his head to one side. "You know him?"

"Know him! I…I love him! His work, in my opinion, is astounding. And his use of colors are amazing. They're bold…electrifying."

"I know. He's my favorite artist."

She moved in for a closer inspection. "Is that the original?"

"No," Bruce laughed. "Way out of my price range, even for me."

"I bet." She studied the painting in further detail and sighed. "It's a pity he passed on the way he did." She lowered her eyes. "I guess it's hard…being alone."

Bruce heard something in her voice that spurred him to ask a question when Alfred returned to declare lunch was ready. Their meal was served in a rather large dining room, too big for one man, in Karen's opinion. The discomfort finally overtaking her, she convinced Bruce to join her in a quaint little picnic in front of the fire. Afterwards, they sat for a long time on the sofa sipping wine, talking less about business, and more about themselves.

"Do you have any family?" he asked.

Karen thought a second. "Rebecca is my family, so to speak."

"We all had a mother and father at some point," he drank his wine.

"Indeed." She said nothing for a moment. "My mother is dead. Two years. Cancer. It was spreading, she couldn't handle the pain. Doctors were useless…wasn't much they could do…and…she took her own life."

Bruce reeled back stunned, his heart beating madly. He observed as Karen sat with her head hung down to her chest, and quivering like a leaf. He yearned to take her in his arms, hold her close, and stroke her hair till the pain went away. Yet nothing could soothe wounds that still ran deep. "I'm sorry."

Karen felt warmed by his statement. Odd that his words of condolence meant something to her; penetrated the ice she'd built around her heart, especially after the cruel rejection of priests and close friends who'd ostracized her mother because of her action. The words 'I'm sorry' always prelude the vicious remark that she was burning in hell.

She clenched her fingers tightly around her crystal goblet. She couldn't believe it. She would never accept this as a holy judgment on a woman who had sacrificed everything to give her the education and life she had now. While her father was off doing god knows what, her mother stayed, put her own dreams aside to help build hers.

"I'm sorry too. Not for her, but for myself. I feel as though I'd let her down. That I could have done something more to help her." Tears burned in underneath her eyelids as the agony washed over her like a flood. "It's like I just stood there and watched her die."

Anguish split Bruce in two. Her tearful cries drawing a horrid picture of a night that changed his life forever. Struck, he rose, setting his drink on the coffee table before it slipped from his shaky hand. He strode to the window, peered out into city. He felt the hurt of the past pressing in around him; threatening to squeeze the breath from his soul.

"I know how you feel."

Bruce heard Karen come to her feet. Her heels clapping against the cold, hard floor. His shoulder dipped when she touched him. "Mr. Wayne," she said. "If…I said anything…I was ranting…I…"

He rotated slowly to stare into her dark eyes. Black whirlpools pulled him into their alluring depths. "Aren't I the one who's supposed to be comforting you."

She shook her head. "I would never ask that of you."

"I'd like to try." He lifted a hand to lightly caress her cheek. Her skin was soft like velvet. Bruce knew then he would never ever be able to get enough. He found himself bowing his head, closing the slip of space to wrap an arm about her waist, drawing her near. The kiss was quick, at first, a test to her reaction. To his surprise, Karen didn't retreat, but stood rooted, open, her head slightly back, waiting.

Claiming her mouth once more, he kissed her hungrily, nipped her bottom lip, before slipping his tongue inside the warm cavern of her mouth to explore her deeply. She moaned; excitement coursing hot flames throughout the cells of her body, searing her flesh. Her hands traveled up his chest, pressing into chiseled muscles, to rope around his neck. Eagerly, she cupped the back of his head to bring him close, not wanting their connection to be severed.

"Bruce!"

The distressful cry caused to the pair to separate, their skin flushed, breath coming in pants. They looked to the entrance to the living room and saw Gwendolyn standing just beyond the elevator. Her personal belongings and what appeared to be shopping bags were all over the floor. A look of horror and shock masked her lovely face.

Bruce pressed his lips together. He'd forgotten to seal off access to the private elevator with his key. But what bothered him the most was not that Gwen had intruded as always, but that Karen was immediately gathering her coat and purse to make a clean getaway. She didn't have to leave on the count of his so-called lady friend and he didn't want her to.

"Karen?"

"I must go," she cried.

"Karen."

"Bruce! What the hell is going on here?" Gwen snapped, enraged he wasn't paying her any mind.

He went to her, capturing her wrist, stalling her frantic movements. "Don't leave."

"Yes! Leave!" Gwen screamed.

"I don't know what I was thinking," she said, her dark eyes large. He could feel her trembling and his mouth pulled into a frown.

"Bruce Wayne," The heiress stamped her feet. "I demanded to know what you're doing with her!"

"Let me go, please." Strumming his thumb against her wrist, he loosened his grip, and watched as she hurried past the enraged red head. She entered the elevator without so much as a glance at him and pressed the button for the lobby. The doors slid close.

Gwen whirled around livid. "You said she was just a consultant!"

He let out harsh exhale, narrowing his eyes at the spoiled, childish woman. He was amazed their relationship lasted as long as it did. "Gwen, it's over. Clearly, I'm not the man for you, and you're not the woman for me. Let's stop kidding ourselves."

"You're breaking up with me!" she shouted.

"It's been over for a good while and you know it."

"How can you say that? Everyone in the whole world thinks we're the perfect couple!"

"Well, I'm not everyone." He departed for his bedroom, ignoring her wild tirades. All he could think about was Karen and the kiss they shared.


	9. Chapter VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could a man dedicated to the night have it all?

**Summary:**  Could a man dedicated to the night have it all?

**Disclaimer:**  I don't own anything.

**Rating:**  T

Chapter VIII

It was a heavy toll, allowing Karen to leave in lieu of the moment; an awkwardness he couldn't shake and a jumble of emotion swirled in his veins. Even now, crouched low in the shadows of a rooftop, eyes pinned on the Blue Bayou located thirty meters away, she plagued his mind, taunted him. Memories of her glowing, dark eyes, and sweet mouth made it damn near impossible for him concentrate on the man he'd been hunting for several nights.

Victor Zsaz was out there, somewhere in Gotham. Although, Lt. Gordon had enlightened him on his return, the man was elusive, difficult to track, and tonight, he was off his mark; his thoughts repeatedly returned to Karen, a woman he was slowly having a strange attraction to. A woman he could, dare say, love.

Bruce knew it was impossible.

As Batman the risk of a full fledge open relationship was dangerous, yet he felt himself drawing to her every day. Whenever board meetings brought him to Wayne Enterprises, he'd find ways to see her, even if it was at a distance. After their quiet talk at his home, one that revealed an intimate and painful part of her life, he thought he'd finally broken through the barrier she wore like a shield.

He was wrong, in fact, the walls had grown higher.

Bruce immediately pushed her from his thoughts the second his gaze fell on a man staggering out the nightclub. Fingers latched on the end of a cigarette, his eyes set to the surrounding darkness he walked down the block to a shiny black Mercedes. Batman curled his hand over the ledge, shifting his weight. Switching on a visor built inside his mask to binocular vision, he zoomed in on the half drunken soul, engaging the man inquisitively.

He recognized him to be Karen's old flame, Steven McGrath, and narrowed his eyes. He'd done a background check; the guy was as slippery as they come, an accountant, so to speak who liked to skim his clients. He winced as a ringing Blackberry blared in his already sensitive hearing. Batman reached under his cape to adjust the frequency, locking on the radio waves emitting in the air. Lucius Fox didn't approve of his sudden taste in spy-ware but the technology had proven useful from time to time.

"I told you never to call me!" Steven barked, gripping the slender instrument pressed to his ear.

Nicholas Pannelli let out a brusque laugh that almost sounded like a sneer. "You're in no position to be giving orders, even if you do have some irrefutable secrets up your sleeve."

"So, what do you want this time Pannelli? I was on my way home."

"So I was told," Pannelli said. "Partaking of my lovely facility are you?"

Steven's jaw throbbed; he was being spied on and he hated that. "Was there something you wanted to tell me?"

"It's being done tonight…the girl…if I can't get to Aaron Powers I'll take the next best thing."

"You can't!" Steven spat out, flicking the cigarette out into the night.

"Don't worry Mr. McGrath, Victor Zsaz has a way with the blade, your ex-fiancée won't feel a thing. Actually, she was here at my restaurant earlier, enjoying a meal with friends, sadly it's the last one she'll ever have. Pity, she is a lovely little minx."

"Call off your dog Pannelli or I'll…!"

"Or what?" he replied snidely. "Destroy your career by going to police and unveil my nasty deeds. You harbor some as well as I recall, working for me is no honorable trade, but one wrong deed deserves another."

Steven went rigid, his blood boiling. "I don't care."

He snapped his phone shut and raced to his car. He had to get to Karen. Using the remote to unlock the car door, he jumped inside, and turned the ignition. A tremendous explosion ripped through the block, propelling fragmented pieces of burning scrap metal into the air.

Dodging the fiery hailstorm, Batman drew his cloak in front of his face, protecting his lungs from the heavy smoke billowing into the sky. He watched in horror as the remains of Steven's car immerse in flames. By then, his heart was hammering like a race horse. Karen was in danger. A mob boss wanted her dead for reason he best left later. Reaching under his cape, he gripped the gas powered gun, shooting it into the air. Its hooks clinked into the brick of neighboring building and he soared off into the night.

* * *

Karen tossed a sheet aside and sat up in bed. Although, the weather was cold, and growing grimmer by the day, she was stifling hot. Running a hand over her face, through her tousled hair, she flung her legs over the side, planting her feet on the hard, wood floor. She rose, walking down the dark corridor, to check the heater beside her bathroom door. She sulked. It was working properly, keeping her tiny apartment a toasty eighty degrees.

Sighing, she leaned against the cool wall, knowing perfectly what was keeping her awake. Bruce Wayne. If ever a man had an effect on her, it was him. She was attracted to him. She wasn't blind to the fact, he was enticing. However, their kiss this afternoon had done more than arouse feelings she believed dead, it had terrified the living daylights out of her. She'd suffered a broken heart already, she refused to get sucked into the whirlpool of love and romance again, especially by a man like Bruce Wayne, whose reputation proceeded him.

She coiled a strand of hair behind her ear and tottered to the kitchen to get a glass of water to drink. Come Monday, she would have to speak to him, explain that nothing could occur out of the kiss. He was her boss and she had a rule not get involve with men she worked with. She flicked on the low light underneath the cabinets so she wouldn't be blinded and her eyes could adjust comfortably.

Just as she opened a cabinet to retrieve glass, she was seized from behind, a fierce hold snaking around her neck. The glass slipped out her hand, shattering on the tile as she was ripped away from the counter. She kicked the air as she was lifted and thrown to floor. She slid a good foot, her side burning, bare skin coming into contact with the tile. Gasping, Karen flipped onto her back to see an ominous male, head shaven, a tattoo on his neck, black eyes gleaming down on her.

"Who…who are…you…?" she stammered, heart racing in fright. "What…what do…you…want?"

He lunged at her.

Karen screamed as he grabbed her by the hair, dragging her down the hall to her bedroom. He picked her up and threw her onto the bed. She tried to scramble away, but he threw his weight onto her small frame, and flicked out switch blade, flashing it in her face. The cold metal glinted menacingly, making her to cower in fear.

"Pannelli, paid me a ten grand to do yah in, but, I don't it's enough." He grinned, sliding the blade down her night shirt, cutting the buttons free, and lifting the fabric to expose her breasts.

Glaring, she spit in his face.

"Ugh…!"

A hand clamped his face.

Savagely, he wiped the obscene moisture out his eyes. "You stupid little..!"

He slapped her hard in the face, drawing a startled cry from her lips. "Just for that," he hissed, his hands forcing her legs apart, licking the sharp edge of his knife. "I'm gonna make it hurt!"

"N-no…no…no…please…s-stop…!" Karen pounded her fists on his chest, tears streaming down her face. As Zsaz shifted to unbuckle his belt, she seized the opportunity to knee him in the groin. He keeled over, groaning. Surging to her feet, she ran for the door, but he recovered quickly, grabbed her and threw her into her vanity dresser.

Winded, she sagged to the floor, vision blurring; the back of head pounding, shards of glass splintering around her.

He snarled flipping his knife. Hunkering over body, he grabbed her by the throat, forcing her to look at him. "No, no, don't go to sleep. I wouldn't want yah to miss this," he said, pressing the blade against her cheek.

All of a sudden a dark figure crashed through the bedroom window. Zsaz's face transformed into an expression of pure horror as the Batman straightened to his full height. His eyes were cold and menacing. Seizing Karen by the hair, Zsaz held her in front of him, thrusting the knife under her chin.

"One more step Batman and this cute piece of ass is toast!"

Without the slightest hesitation Batman hurled a tiny batarang to the hitman. Razor sharp points pierced his hand. Zsaz dropped the knife as he swore and clutched his hand as blood came forth. Surging forward, Batman knocked Karen aside who toppled weakly to the floor, and seized the hood by the throat. Head throbbing, her eyes grew dim. The last thing she saw right before she fainted was the Batman beating attacker to a bloody pulp.

* * *

Karen awoke to the steady beep that resounded annoyingly in her ears. Her body ached and her lips were dry from thirst and the room was terribly cold. Lifting her head slowly off a pillow that was as hard as a rock and ice cold Karen stole a glimpse about the room. This was not her home! Neither was she lying in her own bed. Where was she? The hospital? Dear God what had happened to her! Her memory returned swiftly, of a man, an assault, and the Batman.

She bolted into a sit, which made her head pound once again in excruciating pain. In the dim light, she traced her hands over her entire body, passing over a series of bruises and cuts on her arms and legs. As she picked up the sheet, heart hammering, she slid her hand down her stomach and placed them between her thighs.

Had he?

She couldn't bear it if he'd raped her.

"Don't worry," a voice rasped in the darkness, making her jump. "Nothing happened. I guarantee it."

She swerved her head to left, spying the Batman rooted in a shadowy corner. "You? W-Why did you bring me here?"

"You fainted and from the doctor's examination suffered a mild concussion."

She squint her eyes and rubbed a hand over her face. "What happened? Who was that man?"

"Victor Zsaz, a professional hitman for the mob. Nicholas Pannelli, a notorious mob boss, hired him to kill you."

"Why?" she gasped.

"I don't know but I intend to find out."

"I-I, ugh…I have to get out of here," she babbled, pulling back the sheet, fearful the man would return to finish the job.

As if reading her mind, Batman moved out the shadows, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Rest," he said, gently pushing her back onto the bed. "Lt. Gordon has Victor Zsaz in custody. He can't hurt you anymore."

He adjusted the sheets about her then brushed a gloved hand across her brow. Karen was barely able to flash a smile due to a split lip, but she was marveled by his tenderness. It wasn't something she expected from a man who pounded criminals into dust every night.

"Lt. Gordon will also be here in the morning to ask you some questions. Try to get some sleep."

"I would, if I could," she stammered, trembling beneath the thin sheet that hardly gave her adequate protection against the chilly temperatures hospitals love to set their thermostat.

Batman reached up, pushed a button on the machine then turned to leave. Karen opened her mouth to say something. She didn't want him to go yet, but he dove out the window just as a nurse entered the room.

"Goodness me," the RN said rubbing her arms. "It's extremely cold in here."

She hurried to the window and closed it. She rotated and glanced down at Karen. "We keep the windows closed Ms. Miller. It's a strict policy here."

Karen simply nodded, rolling her head to the side. The nurse tipped her head, looking at the woman sympathetically.

"Can't sleep dear?"

"No."

"Here, this ought to help," she smiled and administered a sedative in her IV drip. "There. In a few minutes you be off to dreamland."

"Thank you," Karen sighed.

* * *

"I want to meet him Gordon, no more excuses." Harvey Dent said, kicking his feet off his desk, tossing the newspaper in his possession down. The article was a detailed insert in the capture of Victor Zsaz, a hitman well renowned, and had escaped justice due to Dr. Jonathan Crane's testimony. The newly elected D.A. saw this as an opportunity to show the people of Gotham his promise to be tough on the criminals of the city.

"That's not for me to decide Harvey," said Gordon. "Besides our official policy is arrest the vigilante known as Batman on sight."

"Uh, huh, then what's that flood light I see floating above the police department," he demanded.

"We've been having some electrical difficulties down at the station," the Lieutenant said dismissively. "But if you've got problems with malfunctioning equipment I suggest you take it up with maintenance, counselor."

A smile turned up the edge of Harvey Dent's mouth. "I never figured you'd have a sense of humor Jim."

"In my line of work, one has to have a sense of humor, or go mad," he said.

"This Batman, character, I must say I admire his methods," Harvey said holding up a picture of a badly wounded Victor Zsaz. "He's having a positive effect on this city." He stared at Gordon. "I'm not going to arrest him Jim if that's what you're afraid of."

"I haven't been afraid since I was seven years old, and you know Zsaz's lawyer is going to use the assault brought on by the Batman as a means to get him off."

"That's why I'm going to make sure he's good a healed before he goes to trial," Harvey remarked, slipping the photo into the shredder. "Don't look surprise Jim. This scumbag doesn't deserve leniency."

A knock came to the door and both men turned their heads to see a Latino woman enter the office. "Sorry to disturb you Lieutenant," Detective Anna Ramirez said. "But you wanted to be informed the moment Ms. Miller was awake and able to take visitors."

Gordon rose. "Thank you Det. Ramirez. I hate to bring this short," he said to Harvey.

"Not a problem, she's my prime witness," The D.A said getting out his chair. "I'll ride over with you."

 

 


	10. Chapter IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could a man dedicated to the night have it all?

**Summary:**  Could a man dedicated to the night have it all?

 **Disclaimer:**  I don't own anything.

 **Rating:**  T

Chapter IX

Alfred was most astonished to see Bruce awake and active so early in the morning. Normally, he'd find him half dead on the bed, barely an ounce of strength left in his body left to peel off the bat suit. Leaving him with the arduous task of removing it himself which was quite a challenge. He crossed the spacious floor and set a tray baring an English muffin, fruit salad, and a pot of tea on the coffee table.

"Morning Alfred," Bruce said cordially as he came out the bathroom, fully dressed, his fingers working a silk tie.

"Master Wayne," he replied pouring the tea and handing the fine china to him.

"No thank you, I'm not really hungry."

"As you wish sir."

His focus on his reflection in a full length mirror, Bruce laced the silk tie into a loop, tugging it close to his neck. Turning his head side to side, he looked himself over, before grimacing, wrenching off the tie, and tossing it onto a pile on his bed. Muttering a curse, he stormed to the large walk-in closet, ripping the shirt off his back. Alfred stared in complete surprise, watching his master, who was apparently in another one of his genial moods.

Without a word, he started to gather all the shirts and ties together, picking up discarded hangers from off the floor, and placing each shirt on every single one. Bruce reappeared, holding to different colored shirts.

"Which one, the Versace or the Armani?"

"Is this for a particular young lady, sir?"

"No," he expressed rather hastily, slowly lowering the garments, casting one on the bed. "Just…uh, want to look my best here." He put on the shirt then plucked a garnet colored tie out of Alfred's hand.

"Ms. Harris would be most pleased by the effort. She left several messages on the answering machine, none to which I've listened fully. But I suspect she's reminding you of a lunch date of some sort."

Bruce froze, shifting, glancing at Alfred, eyes grim. "I'm not seeing Gwendolyn anymore." He saw the glint in the manservant's eye, the arch in his brow, knowing full well he'd come across their argument a few days ago. "It's over, for good this time."

"I'm sorry to hear that sir."

His smiled turned sardonic. "Really, Alfred?"

Alfred gave no response and continued to put the rest of Bruce's shirts and ties back in the closet, keeping his feelings regarding Ms. Harris to himself. He had a great dislike for the woman; resented her arrogance and conceit. She treated Bruce like a puppet on a string, and flew into outrageous tempers when she didn't get her way. He was glad to be free of her.

He came out to see his young master watching the news. "Looks like my theatrics made more than just the headlines." A scowl crept across his chiseled features at the sight of Victor Zsaz being transferred out the hospital to County, avidly proclaiming the Batman was responsible for his injuries.

"This one get a little rough sir," Alfred asked.

"They all get rough."

"Yes," he declared, collecting the tray, and moving to stand by his side. "But those others didn't have an overnight stay at the hospital like this man. This was personal. Care to tell me why?"

Bruce said nothing for a long moment, before releasing a haggard sigh. "Nicholas Pannelli sent Victor Zsaz after Karen…to kill her."

"Gracious me," Alfred cried. "Whatever for?"

"I don't know," he howled, grounding his teeth. "But I intend to find out." He turned sharply and headed out the room.

"Where are you off to sir?"

"I'm going to see how Karen's fairing."

"Might I suggest roses Master Wayne?"

Bruce tossed him a smile. "The thought did cross my mind."

* * *

"Mr. Wayne," said Karen, letting out a startled shriek as the affluent billionaire entered her hospital room, two dozen red roses laden in his arm. She sat up immediately in her bed, drawing the covers up pass her chest, combing her fingers in her messy hair. "You…you caught me by surprise."

"I'm sorry, I hope I'm not being an inconvenience of some sort," he apologized, walking the distance to her bed.

Karen shook her head, her fingers gripping the white sheets. "No, I-uh…how did you know I was here?" She hadn't been given the opportunity to telephone her secretary, Chrissie, and tell her she would not be coming into work today. Not to mention calling Rebecca and enlightening her on the details of her horrific attack, and ask if she could bring a change of clothes.

"Lt. James Gordon came to Wayne Enterprises early this morning," he lied. "He told me what happened and I came as soon as I could." Handing her the flowers, he pulled a nearby chair closer to her bed and took a seat.

"They're lovely," she said beaming, lowering her nose into the petals, breathing in the rich scent. He looked at her critically; saw bruises that were well defined on her lips and skin, and struggled to curb his anger. Never in his life had he felt a desire to kill a man as he did at this moment. And in truth, he almost did last night.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, watching as she carefully rested the flowers on her lap.

Her expression dimmed. Dark eyes pooling with tears, mouth quivering, she laid a hand on her swollen lips, shaking her head. "I…," she sniffed. "I don't know…I…"

Bruce rose out of his seat and went to her. Cradling her in his arms, he rocked her gently. Karen clasped her arms about the man offering her comfort and support. Burying her face in his chest, she wept.

For a long time, Bruce held her, whispered words of encouragement, while stroking his hand down the length of her hair. He felt his heart swell with each panted breath she took. She withdrew gradually, hiccupping, wiping the salty moisture out her eyes. She caught her breath when she saw she'd made a mess of his shirt.

"I…I'm sorry," she cried, attempting to pat him dry with her sheet.

Bruce took her hands in his, holding them. "It's alright," he grinned and brushed her hair out her face, stroking her cheek, rubbing his thumb along her chin. "You don't have to apologize for anything."

He leaned and planted a kiss on her forehead. Hearing the catch of breath, he drew back slightly, staring into her eyes.

Mouth agape, Karen blinked nervously at him, dumbfounded as he moved in close once more. Her heart thumped in anticipation and uncertainty, a wealth of excitement coursed through her. Fingers clinging to the sheets, a soft moan escaped her mouth at the tender feel of his mouth capturing her lips. Mindful of the swollen flesh, he kissed her slow, but deeply.

Instinctively, her hand traveled upwards to rest on his neck, spreading on wide set shoulders. Eyes closed, she allowed wondrous sensations to flow, before common sense lectured, reminded her of the crushing heartache she'd endured.

She broke the kiss, turning aside. "Mr. Wayne, wait!" She took several deep breaths to quiet her fluttering heart. "We need to talk about the other day."

"If you're worried about Gwendolyn, you don't have to be," he smiled. "I broke it off with her."

Karen lowered her eyes, shaking her head. "No, it's not that." She looked up at him. "W-What happened…the kiss…it…it was a mistake."

Bruce drew back sharply. The look in his eyes clearly showing his shock. "A mistake? Karen…"

"Please…listen…I'm deeply flattered…really. Don't get me wrong, I'd admit I do like you, but, as a friend. I-I, uh, you're my boss, and I think it's best we keep our relationship on a professional level. I've already endured heartache. I couldn't bear to go through another."

Color drained from his face, remembering the incident near the Blue Bayou, and the explosion that claimed her ex-fiancé's life. He knew there was no way he could tell her Steven was dead without her discovering his secret. Would she understand if he did reveal he was Batman? He tightened his lip and he glanced behind as the door to her room opened.

Lt. Gordon stepped inside followed by Detective Ramirez and the new district attorney. "Ms. Miller?"

Karen propped up in the bed. "Yes?"

"I'm Lt. James Gordon of the Gotham City Police Department," he began, showing his badge. "This is Detective Anna Ramirez and I'm sure you know Harvey Dent."

"Yes, of course," she said turning her attention to the tall man standing off to the right.

"We're here to ask you a few questions about the man who attacked." By then Bruce had fallen to the sideline, and had taken refuge near the window, looking out into the city.

"I was told that his name was Victor Zsaz," she spoke in a quiet voice.

Harvey Dent tipped his head. "Who told you that?"

Bruce rotated a bit, drawing a look from Karen. "I do watch the news Mr. Dent. He's some sort of hitman as they claim."

"Not just any hitman," Gordon stated, easing into the chair Bruce had abandoned, "but a dangerous assassin for the mob. He was formerly under the services of one Carmine Falcone, but recently hired himself out as an independent, contract killer."

With every word spoken, Karen grew more terrified, eyes widening in disbelief and horror. Gordon removed a photo from a file and held it in front of her. "Is this the man who attacked you?"

She narrowed her eyes, examining image, nodding her head. "Yes…yes…that's him. That's him!"

"Got him," Harvey murmured, a smile edging his face.

"Did Victor Zsaz say anything to you?" asked Gordon.

"He said a lot of things," Karen replied with an air of derision.

"Did he mention the name of the person who hired him: Salvatore Maroni, Gambol...the Chechen?"

"No."

"Can you think of anyone with a reason to want you dead?"

"No, no one," she cried. Her head giddy, she pressed her fingers to her temple. "I-I don't know why these men or anyone would want me dead."

"Neither would I," said Gordon, frowning.

The room was silent for a brief moment. "Wait, wait," said Karen as though she were hit by lightning. "He did mention a man by the name of Pannelli. Does that name mean anything to you?"

"The hell it does," Harvey declared excitedly, moving forward. "Nicholas Pannelli is head of the Italian family. It was rumored he was to step into Carmine Falcone's shoes after the mob boss went crazy. He's not too happy about the reigns being passed to Salvatore Maroni."

"My god, what on earth have I gotten myself into?" She whimpered, trembling.

"I want her in protective custody," Harvey spoke to Gordon then fixed his gaze on Karen. "For some reason he wants you dead, and until we find out why, I need you in a safe place. Unfortunately, I don't hold too much faith in some of the cops in this city," his vision wheeling to Ramirez in the background. "But we'll have to make do."

"If you don't mind Mr. Dent, I could take Karen into my household," Bruce offered, drawing a stunned look from Karen. "The hotel is the safest place she could be. With twenty-four hour security, cameras on each floor, and my penthouse is built like a veritable fortress despite its appearance, I believe she will be safe. I have access to a private elevator and helicopter to take her away in case of trouble."

"Sounds reasonable and off the tax payer's expense, it's done deal," said Harvey. He checked his watch. "I've gotta run and place Zsaz under heavy guard. Marconi has been known to do away with men who fail in their task."

"Whoa! Wait a minute," Karen yelled. "Don't I get a say in this?"

"Not when it comes to your life," replied the D.A.

"I-I don't really want to stay with Mr. Wayne. I think I can find someone I trust to stay within the city."

"You can't risk anyone you care about that way. Marconi will kill them to get to you."

"But why does he want me dead," she screamed, losing her patience and temper. "It doesn't make any sense. I'm nobody."

"As I said before Ms. Miller," Harvey quipped. "We'll find out in due time."

"May I at least go home to pack? Get a change of clothes."

"Not a chance," he shook his head. "Someone could be waiting for you in Zsaz's place. I'm sure Mr. Wayne can provide you with everything you need." Harvey threw a glance in Bruce's direction. "After all, he does own half the city." Bruce narrowed his eyes to the mockery coming forth from the district attorney's lips. A curt nod and he was out the door in less than a minute.

"I'll have Detective Ramirez stay behind as guard, send someone to take her place at night, just until the doctor gives you a clean bill of health," Gordon said, rising to his feet.

"I'll be outside if you need me," Ramirez said. "Just holler."

Karen nodded, forcing a smile, and was once again alone with Bruce. Her mood darkened as well as her eyes. Stiffly, she folded her arms over her chest, glaring at the man who saw fit to make her prisoner of his household.

"Happy now."

Bruce frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well," the sound coming out as grunt, her shoulders rolling forward. "I burned your ego by my rejection, you must feel you could punish with this twisted little entrapment."

He glared down at her. "Is that what you think?" he said incredulously. "This is some sort of game I'm playing."

"Is it?" She probed, a brow arching in question.

He squelched the rage and hurt churning inside him like a hurricane as her sharp barb set in like stone. The woman was impossible. "You don't seem to take gratitude in anything I've done."

"Done," Karen repeated, a question rising in her eyes. "What is it that you've done for me?"

His jaw throbbed. "Nothing," he said through gritted teeth and headed for the door. He paused a second, his back to her. "I'll come back when the doctor releases you. Not before then." Thrusting the door open, he stormed out.

* * *

Karen did little else but recuperate over the next few days. While she'd developed an abhorrence for hospital food, their selection of fruit was adequate. Nights, however, she was haunted by nightmares of her attack, and would awake screaming. It didn't help that it took her several minutes to remember she was in the hospital. Or to have the cop on duty charging in waving his gun around.

Tonight, she lay in the stillness, barely able to sleep, not wanting to. Curled beneath the blanket, she struggled inwardly, her mind buzzing with a thousand thoughts at once. She reflected over her situation, the danger she faced, the attempt on her life. Pondering, what ills a mob boss could have with a simple consultant.

Most vividly, she thought about Bruce, and how coldly she'd treated his act of kindness. Steven had definitely left his mark, a scar that ran so deep she doubt it would heal. But could she trust a man who seemed to be an outrageous flirt?

She shivered when she felt the rush of a cold breeze. "You're here, aren't you," she said, softly, realizing she wasn't alone in the room. Only one person would be crazy enough to climb to the sixth floor where she resided.

"Yes," Batman said in a low howl.

Karen smiled. "Hmm. This is the second time you pulled me out of a jam," she rolled onto her back to glance at the Dark Knight. "I think I have a vigilante who's also a stalker."

"I was in the neighborhood."

"Do I get to say thank you."

"No." Batman climbed onto the ledge, then cast her a look. "And you'll never have to." He disappeared.

Sadness chased over her face, a tear slipping down her cheek to be absorbed on her pillow. Her heart skipped when the nursed entered to see if she was doing well. "Why is this window open?" She spun around to look at Karen as though she were a child. "Ms. Miller, hospital policy clearly states all windows must remain closed."

"Of course," she whispered and astoundingly drifted to sleep without medical aid.

In the morning, Rebecca chewed her ears off, enraged that after several days she'd finally taken the time to let her know she was in the hospital. "What are you a magnet for scum?"

"I would laugh if this wasn't so serious," Karen remarked brushing her hair with a brush her friend had brought and a few other essentials. She went the mirror and frowned. The reflection was hideous, plain and simple. She looked like she'd been in a car wreck.

"So, you met the new D.A.?"

"Yes."

"And what's he like?"

"Pushy," her mouth twisted.

Karen took some perfume and dabbed it on her neck and wrist, grateful she would no longer smell like antiseptic. Bruce Wayne would be here in a few minutes to collect her and whisk her off to his palace, much to her disdain. She argued with Harvey when he'd returned to go over her statement for the umpteenth time, but the man wouldn't relent. Saying a man of Bruce Wayne's caliber would send even the National Guard running if he was in the slightest danger.

Mumbling, she turned to see Rebecca grinning. "What?"

"Nervous," the woman clucked.

"No," she scoffed.

"Sure."

Glaring, Karen snapped. "It's not what you think. I going into protective custody, not moving in with the man."

"Sounds like the same thing to me," Rebecca said.

"You're impossible," sighed Karen. "Look could you fetch me some water, I'm feeling kind of parched."

Rebecca hopped to her feet. "Not a problem." She left the room.

"That was fast," she chuckled to sound of the door opening.

She frowned, spying a man a least thirty years her senior standing the doorway. A handsome gent with a wealth of silver hair, he'd no doubt broken a few hearts during his day. He addressed her with enigmatic dark eyes that appeared to reach out and touch from across the room. Frowning, Karen took a step to him. "Can I help you?"

The man smiled. "Pardon me moi, mademoiselle," he said in a terrible French accent. "I must have the wrong room."

"Okay," she grinned, nodding her head, and watched him take his leave.


	11. Chapter X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could a man dedicated to the night have it all?

**Summary:**  Could a man dedicated to the night have it all?

 **Disclaimer:**  I don't own anything.

 **Rating:**  T

Chapter X

Lieutenant James Gordon arrived at the Gotham County Morgue to find the Chief Medical Examiner, Dr. Paul Fredericks, busily working on a corpse brought in some time in the last few days. An anonymous tip notified police of an explosion, leaving citizens in the general area on edge.

Upon discovering the unidentified male had been found, burnt to a crisp, a few blocks away from the Blue Bayou, suspicion grew, and he took the call. The case peek his interest seeing how the nightclub was owned by Nicholas Pannelli. Somehow, he felt there was a connection between Ms. Miller's assault, and the poor soul lying in the morgue.

"What do you got?" Gordon asked grimacing, the sight of the charred remains turning his stomach. It was hard to imagine it was once a human being.

"Thank God for dental records," Dr. Fredericks said dryly, plucking a file from off his desk. He looked at Gordon with wearied eyes, exhaling, coughing as he removed his mask. The thick smell of the benzoyl peroxide and all manner of antiseptics irritated his lungs. "The victim's name is Steven McGrath, an accountant, and big time social climber. He's handled many of the top names in Gotham City, including our very own Commissioner Loeb."

"What the hell is a guy like that doing in such a sleazy joint?" inquired Gordon with the raise of his eyebrows.

"Escaping his mean spirited girlfriend, perhaps." The medical examiner snorted, tossing file aside, scrutinizing the body resting on the metal table. "Poor guy. Good looking too. Don't suppose he might've gotten shady, pissed off the wrong people."

"Most likely." Gordon turned sharply and headed through the swinging doors.

"You're welcome," Dr. Fredericks barked after him.

Grabbing his cell phone, Gordon placed a call to Ramirez as he headed to his car, telling her to meet him at Steven McGrath's residence. She questioned his motives, riling his already tense nerves, and he silenced her with a brusque command.

Ramirez was waiting for him outside a lavish apartment building when he arrived. She greeted him with a wave, taking a step back as he approached. "What's up Lieutenant?"

"I wanna take a look inside Steven McGrath's apartment."

"Don't we need a warrant?"

"Who needs a warrant for a dead man," said Gordon. "Let's go."

They ventured inside the lobby, flashing their badges to the doorman gawking at them in surprise. Searching the names on the mailbox, Gordon found McGrath's and went to the elevator. Reaching the floor, they walked one step of each other down the hall, when the lieutenant froze. McGrath's apartment door stood wide open.

He ripped out his weapon, pressing his body against the wall. Ramirez followed his lead. He signaled the Detective and she rushed before him, her gun held at shoulder level. She stood to opposite side of the door, nodding to Gordon.

He entered, sweeping the entranceway of the apartment, glancing to Ramirez. She charged forward, keeping a quiet profile, moving swiftly into a grand sitting room. Her eyes widened; the entire room was in an uproar. Double teaming, the two officers searched the apartment, giving it a clean bill in less than five minutes.

"No one's home." Ramirez let out a breath, holstering her gun.

Gordon looked about the mess. "But somebody was here."

"What do you think they were looking for?"

"I don't know, but it must've been important. Better radio in for backup."

"Roger." She removed her radio and called in.

As she did so, Gordon walked slowly about the place, noticing the fine quality furniture, expensive electronic equipment, and a room solely set aside for exercise equipment. An accountant paid extremely well from what he could factor.

Entering the bedroom, he saw it was in a state of disarray. Careful not to touch or move anything out place, he looked around, before noting several pictures on a dresser. He left the bedroom to explore the rest of the household. He crossed the chaotic mess, overlooking the expansive apartment, well beyond his price range with displeasure.

This guy, McGrath, was a high roller.

"CSI will be here in ten minutes Lieutenant."

"Right," he said, sighing, rubbing the muscles in his neck.

Ramirez frowned. "You look tired Jim."

"Late night."

"Want me to grab us some coffee?"

He smiled her way. "Love some?"

Thirty minutes later, the apartment was crawling with police officers. Standing to one side, Gordon sipped a grand café latte, courtesy of Starbucks and Detective Ramirez. His eyes rolled back as he took another taste of the brewed beans.

"Now that's coffee."

She grinned and nodded in agreement. CSI worked diligently, scouring McGrath's apartment, searching for traces of whatever a mysterious person had been looking for.

The unit uncovered some seedy DVD's, a stash of heroine, and twenty thousand dollars in a safe. "Pretty substantial Lieutenant, but nothing major to blow one's skirt up," a member of the unit said.

"Have them take his computer downtown and see what they can find," ordered Gordon.

"Will do."

He spied Ramirez on the sofa, flipping through what appeared to be a journal. "Apparently, McGrath keeps a record of his conquest, and a picture to go with it." She held the book in plain view of Gordon. "Does someone look familiar?"

"Karen Miller," he said, astonished.

"Uh huh, she was his fiancée until recently. She must have caught him banging the blond on the next page."

"Now we're getting somewhere. Has she checked out the hospital yet?"

She nodded, setting the book down in her lap. "Bruce Wayne picked her up three days ago."

"Let's go." Gordon turned, heading for the door.

"Where?"

The Ritz Marlton."

* * *

Aaron Powers knew he was tempting a dark fate staying here, coming to Gotham for that matter. The same oppressiveness and debauchery coating the air greeted him the moment he stepped out the airport. A tiny voice whispered, told him to buy a ticket, and return to Paris. This city, this place with all its frailties, it was no longer home. He didn't belong. The world he once thrived was a distant nightmare.

Now, he was a simple investor, repaying the world for all the evil he'd done. He'd cut himself from the loose living, and happy gun totting days when crime had an edge, a certain style. And mob bosses respected each other to an extent, instead of tearing one another to shreds.

There were codes then. Honor to live by. Not this drive by, gang banging shoot outs enacted by toddlers holding guns too large for them to carry. Such a death was last minute, but never truly necessary. Today, this generation of young ruffians, drive-bys were as numerous as the stars in the heavens. If he gave his honest opinion, the life of a villain of his day was nothing like the two-bit thugs looming in Gotham.

They had class.

He signaled the bartender, whispered, requested a drink far heavier than this sissy concoction they have the nerve to dub alcohol. He was never a champagne man and never would be. He tried to develop a taste for it during his years in Pars, for wine as well. It didn't take.

"Scotch," he murmured, "straight."

"Yes, sir." The bartender poured his drink then went to see to another customer.

Aaron took a large sip of his wine, putting the crystal cup back down on the coaster. He looked around. For a prissy little hotel, he had to give the Ritz Marlton a star for quality booze. The hotel wasn't the wisest place he should reside, but he wanted to be near Karen, his daughter, and only child. Twice, he'd seen her image in The Gotham Times' society section. The first, she was roped on the arm of that insipid Playboy, Wayne; the second she was on her way to the gala.

His heart swelled as he fished out her picture. She was beautiful, like her mother. She bore the same classic beauty that was to die for. Yet she had inherited his dark, mysterious eyes. Eyes that melted the heart of many ladies, except her mother.

Audrey never fell for anything he threw at her. It was the reason pursued her to the point of desperation, before falling madly in love with her. But his life, the family he adopted, he wasn't entirely ready to give it up. It tore him apart when she told leave and to keep his blood money. She didn't want Karen tainted by that world, and she was right.

From the distance, he had watched his little girl grow. He made a promise to himself he would take Audrey and Karen away when the time was right. But it never presented itself. Audrey died, taking her own life, unable to bear the pain of cancer any longer. And Karen…she never knew him.

That was his fault!

At the hospital, she looked right through him; her smile, so much like her mother's, jarred old wounds, and memories of a time long ago. Wincing, he took a gulp of the amber liquid resting within his reach. Some creep attacked his daughter, his baby, some pervert. He thought of acquiring the talents of a sinister individual to do away with Victor Zsaz, but he was beyond his reach. It didn't ease him his mind to discover from an inside source his old partner was involved.

This solidified his plans to stay in Gotham rather than run and hide like a coward. He was going to deal with his old friend, very soon.

A chorus of laughter pierced his hearing. Lifting his eyes to the mirror behind the bar, he spied two aged hens looking his direction, giggling like school girls. Wealthy spinsters or former trophy wives with too much time, money and a whole lot of nothing on their hands. He chuckled to himself, delighted to know he still had the magic, even with the years wrinkling the corners of his eyes. Yet he wasn't moved. He preferred his girls young, and their bodies slim and tight.

Speaking of a man who liked his women, he saw Bruce Wayne entering the lobby, heading to a private elevator, and darkened. The man truly believed he owed everything, including his daughter. He'd kept her cooped up inside that obese penthouse for days.

Aaron sucked his teeth after draining the remains of his drink. What was she his love slave? He'd put a stop to it, if his sudden presence wouldn't encourage the wrath of his former partner, an air of surprise he didn't want to lose, and he would gain bitter diatribes from his daughter.

He just wanted chance to talk to Karen, one friendly conversation. It would erase the years lost, but at least they had spoken.

Tossing a twenty on the bar top, he departed for his room.

* * *

An hour run on the treadmill and a hot shower had rejuvenated Bruce's waned spirit. Life at Wayne Enterprises was tedious to the point of boredom. He couldn't factor how Lucius Fox enjoyed spending every waking moment at the company.

He'd rather go base jumping, sky diving, than sit through meetings, but he had to make appearances. Falling asleep at board meetings and acquisitions wasn't exactly classy. Pretty soon people were going to start asking questions, including one pesky little employee. He'll put in several active weeks at Wayne Enterprises, and hopefully that would put all suspicions to rest.

He left his bedroom, passing through the living room; the kitchen his destination. He paused in the doorway when he saw Karen, his pulse quickening. She was bent forward, rummaging through fridge, giving him a nice view of her backside. He cocked his head, a playful smile falling on his mouth, before he shook his head. Steeling himself, he entered the kitchen. She hadn't noticed. His dark mood returned.

Friends. She wanted to be friends!

The simple suggestion was a severe blow to his ego. If there was one thing clear about his reputation. He had no female friends, only relations. He wanted stop bickering about it, but he couldn't help it. He had feelings for Karen that went beyond friendship. So, he avoided her, or perhaps it was the other way around. Either way, he hadn't seen her in days.

He stood off to side and watched her move in fluid grace. She picked out a carton of milk and her lips pinched tight. Putting it back on the shelf, she searched the fridge again. Spying her cup and a packet of hot chocolate, he took a guess at what she wanted.

"Alfred keeps the condensed milk on the top shelf of cupboard in front of you." She spun around a hand on her chest. He grinned. "He still forgets that I'm tall enough to reach it."

Karen turned, opening the cabinet, finding the item just as he said it would be. She hiked on her tip toes but found it hard to reach.

"Here, let me." With ease, Bruce took one can down, and handed it to her.

"Thanks," she smiled and popped the lid with a can opener, pouring some of the rich, creamy milk into the steamy chocolate. She placed the rest in the refrigerator and stirred the cup. She felt him staring at her and glanced his way. "Care for some?"

His smile grew larger. "Love it."

Smiling, she selected another coffee cup; one with the image shaped like a bat, and arched a brow. His expression was innocent. "What?"

"Nothing." She said with a feigned indifference, resting his cup beside hers. Adding hot water, chocolate and the sweet milk, she handed it to him.

He blew across the surface to cool the liquid. Bringing the cup to his lips, he took a sip. "Hmm."

She winked at him. "Was my mother's recipe." She started to walk out the kitchen.

"Nice to know we're talking again."

Karen paused at the door, angling her body. "I didn't know we'd stopped."

Bruce raised and lowered his shoulders, his mouth pulling into a deep frown. "Well," he let out in a sigh. "You've been avoiding me since you got here. I just figured…"

"First of all, you stopped talking to me," she snapped, eyes flashing, "Walking around this place like a puffed up toad, simply because I wouldn't buckle to charms of the 'Great Bruce Wayne'. And second, you're not angry with me, your ego is bruised. I've never met a more self centered man." Bruce looked away, hating how she sometimes talked to him like he was a child. "If I was moody, it's because I don't appreciate being locked away in this house like Rapunzel in the tower."

"It was for your protection," he fought back.

"Which could've been handled by the police," she scoffed. "I must say Mr. Wayne your concern for my well being runs far deeper than an employer for his employee. I wonder why that is?"

"Are you so blind to see that I care about you!" he hollered. "Or did this Steven guy tear out what's left of your heart." He regretted the words almost instantly as her face splintered to pieces and pain rose in her eyes.

"Damn you!" she hissed. "Damn you! You don't know anything about it!" She moved to flee, he caught her wrist, pulling her roughly to him, not caring her cup had fallen out her hands, and shattered on the floor.

"I know he hurt," he said, low and husky. "Something I'd never do."

Karen trembled against him, afraid to give into the feelings he sparked. "No," she whimpered. "You'd hurt me, maybe not today, but soon."

He lowered his head close to her face. "Let's me prove myself to you."

She stared up at him, blinking once. "Please let go of my arm." Struck by the coldness in her eyes, he loosened his hold, and she stepped back.

"Excuse me Master Wayne," Alfred cleared his throat and the pair separated. Karen braced herself on the counter, still shaking.

"What is it Alfred?" Bruce demanded gruffly, hoping his friend would forgive him for his behavior.

"Lt. Gordon and Detective Ramirez are here and wish to speak to Ms. Miller."

Karen turned. "What about?"

"They wouldn't say mum."

Without a glance in Bruce's direction, she followed the manservant out the kitchen, leaving him hot, angry, and completely bewildered. After five minutes, he'd gathered his senses, and trailed the voices in the living room, hands shoved in his pockets. There, he was struck by the sight Karen hunched forward, a Kleenex in hand. He countenance turned grim.

He knew she'd just found out about Steven.


	12. Chapter XI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could a man dedicated to the night have it all?

**Summary:**  Could a man dedicated to the night have it all?

**Disclaimer:**  I don't own anything.

**Rating:**  T

Chapter XI

"I thought I might bring you some supper," Alfred said, quietly entering Karen's bedroom, carrying a tray of Minestrone soup, and crispy, hot toast. He hadn't seen her the rest of day, not since she'd heard the tragedy that had befallen her ex-fiancé.

Searching the room, he found her sitting on a padded ledge built into the ceiling high window, a ghostly expression on her face, as she stared out into the city. Mouth turning grim, Alfred brushed aside a pile of wadded Kleenex tissues, setting the tray on a desk.

He straightened and looked at Karen. "Right."

As he turned to leave she spoke. "Alfred," she croaked, her voice weak, broken.

"Yes, Miss Miller?" he asked facing her.

She was pale and her eyes were red from ceaseless crying. Raking a hand through her brown hair, she threw her legs over the side, rising uneasily to her feet. "It was my fault Alfred…Steven needed me. I knew he was addicted to heroin…I just didn't know how to help him. When I tried t-to…reach out to him one night…he… he…hit me…I couldn't take it anymore. So I…I used his numerous infidelities…as an excuse…an excuse to leave him. If I was only there…he wouldn't have gone…to…to that place!"

Alfred went to her. She was literally falling apart, ranting, nearly falling to her knees. Distressed, he gathered her into a warm embrace, before she dropped to the floor, shushing her, then stared into her mesmerizing dark eyes.

"There was nothing you did…and nothing you ex-fiancé did." He tipped her chip and Karen looked up at him with haunted eyes. "The person who murdered him is responsible for his death. It was them and them alone. Do you understand?"

She lowered her head, wanting to believe Alfred, but anguish and guilt stirred. Part of her was devoted, still loved Steven despite his faults. He had his moments in the sun, where he was positively wonderful, and always eager to open her eyes to culture, music, and the arts. Being brought up in the lowliest area of Gotham, Steven offered her a world she'd never seen. Nevertheless, it came with a violent temper and an addiction he couldn't master.

Braving a smile, Karen patted Alfred's chest in reassurance. "You're right."

"Good." He gestured to the desk, where the soup lay cooling. "I hope you're hungry."

"Famished actually," she whispered, going over to desk, and sitting down in the chair. She spooned some of soup into her mouth and smacked her lips. "Hmm, delicious."

"Trade secret," he said, smiling down at her.

After she'd eaten her fill, he collected the tray, asking if she required anything else for the night. She kindly told him no as she slipped into bed, drawing the plush quilt over her head. Alfred stood in the middle of room several minutes, watching the sleep take her over, and then withdrew, shutting off the lights.

Heading to the kitchen, he spotted Bruce sitting on a stool planted before an island counter, munching on an apple. He walked to the dishwater and deposited the dirty bowl, plate, and tray into the machine.

"How is she?" Bruce asked tonelessly.

"Barely holding it together," replied Alfred. He set the washer into rotation and turned around. "She's extremely upset."

"I know the feeling," he muttered, devouring the remains of his apple, tossing the core in the trash.

Anger consumed Alfred. He was well aware of what had Bruce in such a foul mood when he stumbled across his and Karen's conversation in the kitchen earlier. "I hope you'll try to extend a little courtesy in light of Ms. Miller's situation."

"I have Alfred."

"Have you?"

Bruce darkened. "I've brought her into my home didn't I?"

"For her protection as you claim," said Alfred, an edge of disappointment in his voice. "Or was it merely a ploy to gain her favor?"

"You've never questioned my honor before Alfred," Bruce said tersely, a crimson shade flustering his face. Embarrassment putting him ill at ease. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had such a conversation with Alfred. In fact, he couldn't recall one. "I don't know why you feel compelled to do it now."

"Because you've never brought home a woman as charming as Ms. Miller before," he said quickly, "A woman who, in some ways, reminds me of your mother."

The servant observed the way Bruce's face steeled, and lowered his eyes, never meaning to speak of the dead. "My apologies sir, I spoke out of turn. If you won't be needing me, I'll be turning in." With a curt nod, he started toward the door.

"Alfred," Bruce called out and he turned.

"Yes, Master Wayne?"

Bruce's mouth curled into a smile. "She is great isn't she?"

"Delightful."

Bruce paused before Karen's bedroom door, hesitant, deciding whether or not he should go in. Slowly turning the knob, he opened the door, and entered. It was dark except for moonlight drifting through the gossamer curtains hanging over the window. He stepped quietly into the room, stopping beside her bed, and peering down at the sleeping woman snug underneath a heavy quilt. A bit of the pale cool light touched her face.

His heart quickened. Reaching down, he brushed a silky tendril off her cheek. Karen stirred, a soft gasp escaping her lips as she rolled to other side of the bed, burying her face into the pillows. He noticed a bottle of Valium on the nightstand. Alfred must have provided it to calm her nerves. She would be out for hours. He heard her mumble something incoherent and retreated to the far side of the room. Unable to bear the close proximity any longer.

What was happening to him? Why the sudden urge to protect a woman, in truth, he barely knew?

Bruce glanced her way again, his brow furrowing. What did he really know about Karen? She was somewhat rambunctious, a hard worker, had a smart mouth, and was quick to give an honest, straightforward opinion. Other than that, there was nothing. The list was short, almost barren.

The only deep, personal aspect of her life he was sure about was that she graduated top of her class at Gotham University, her mother was dead, and now her ex-fiancé. He didn't know what her favorite color was or if she liked lettuce on a tuna fish sandwich.

He released a pent up breath, rubbing his neck. What if Alfred was right? What if he'd hoped to gain something out this whole trauma? What if he'd simply wanted to get her out of his system? A sexual release she alone could provide. He looked away, ashamed. She was gradually becoming a part of him and that was something he couldn't allow. Not as long as the city was lost to corruption. Not as long as he was Batman.

This was the path he'd chosen for himself, his destiny fashioned out of pain and torment. He would never forgive himself if she'd gotten hurt or killed. Nevertheless, her life was already at stake. Nicholas Pannelli wanted her dead. Why? What could he possibly hope to gain from this woman's death. She was a mild mannered, taxpaying citizen. She wouldn't harm a fly, unless provoked. He had to get to the bottom of this and fast.

Suddenly, a signal attracted his gaze and he withdrew to his bedroom. Fastening the bolt on the door, he went to his closet. He approached the compartment containing a vast number of his designer shoes. Slipping his hand behind the wall unit, he gave it a hard tug, and it swung open to one side. Residing on a mannequin, the dark mantle he bore.

* * *

Harvey Dent stood impatiently on the rooftop of the Gotham Police Department, casting a glance every so often at his watch. It was fifteen minutes after the ten, and still the Batman was a no show. But he would wait. He would wait until dawn if he had to.

A face to face with the Batman.

He'd yearned for this opportunity for quite a while, long before he was elected Gotham's District Attorney. Finally, after weeks of goading, he'd managed to sway Gordon into letting him meet the infamous Dark Knight.

"Is he normally this late?" he asked the Lieutenant standing beside the large projector beaming out a massive pillar of light.

"Some nights he doesn't show at all," answered Gordon honestly.

Harvey let out a snort. "Terrific."

Hands on his hips, he moved from corner to corner, looking out across the city. Once in awhile, he lifted his head to peer at the black sky. Watched a gigantic bat float on dark clouds slowly gliding in the heavens. He turned his eyes to Lt. Gordon casually sipping a cup of coffee. His mouth pulled into a smirk.

"I should've taken you up on that coffee."

"You're wise not to," Gordon gagged after a careful taste of the hot brew. "It ain't that great."

The D.A. threw his head back in a riotous laugh, which was instantly silenced when he saw a figure emerge in the shadows. Harvey's smile dissipated as he made out the Batman in the blackness. Poised, shrouded in darkness, the Dark Knight met his challenging eyes, then thrust his gaze to Gordon.

"I was wondering when we'd meet," Harvey said boisterously, closing the distance between himself and the enigmatic being sworn to rid Gotham of evil and depravity. He extended his hand in greeting. "Harvey Dent."

Batman dropped his eyes to the outstretched offering. "I know who you are," he rasped, moving away from the dignified lawyer.

"I might've known," Harvey grinned, retracting his arm. "And I've certainly heard a great deal about you."

"What have you heard?"

"Just about everything that could be said about a man who dresses in a Halloween costume and fights crime." Harvey noted the Dark Knight was not amused by his humor and switched gears. "I'm not here to pass judgment," he smiled. "I just wanted to meet you."

Batman tipped his head, his eyes eerily glowing like hot coals in the night. "Why?"

"It's safe to say we're both coming from the same page, an abhorrence to crime, though we tackle it differently."

"We're not the same," Batman growled, almost to the point of disgust. "If we were, men like Maroni, The Chechen, and even Nicholas Pannelli wouldn't have been able to build criminal empires here in Gotham."

"Granted, you're right about that, I do have my work cut out for me." Harvey admitted, seeing he had a tough road ahead.

Every day the cries of the public filled his office. The people were hungering for justice, and fairness in the courts. They were restless of hardened felons getting off with the slap on the time, due to wise cracking, expensive attorneys, and corrupt judges on the mob's payroll.

His back was against the wall.

While interviewing several attorneys to take up the Assistant D.A. seat, he was already coming under fire from the Mayor's office. Commissioner Loeb was barking demands, and threats on his life had increased. He wasn't afraid to die, but he was not ready to leave this world either. He raised his eyes to the Dark Knight.

"We could help each other." He offered, walking steadily to him. "Help me, help you."

Batman angled his head, eyes narrowing. "I don't need your help." He moved to leave, climbing onto the ledge.

"Oh, I think you do." Harvey remarked and the Dark Knight swung around. The D.A. stared hard at the mask shielding a face from plain sight.

His brain flared as he gazed deep into hooded eyes, wondering, guessing, partially impressed by the man who dared to take a stand. "You're not exactly popular. In fact, you're more wanted than Salvatore Maroni. I understand if you don't trust me, or even like me. I'm not exactly favored among some cops. Like you, they've got a nickname for me too, but I believe we can help each other."

"What can you offer me that I don't already gain from Lt. Gordon?"

Eyes falling on the officer residing in the background, a brow arched. He'd been right. There was a silent partnership between the self serving officer and the masked avenger. "Immunity, of some sort. Help dress up your image before the eyes of the public, easier access to the police force…"

"I'm not here to be liked, nor do I require more friends. It's not a luxury I care to have," Batman said facing the city.

"Someone has to be the hero that Gotham deserves."

The Dark Knight looked at Harvey. "I can't be that hero."

"But I can." Harvey stepped closer. "Together we can make this city into a better place."

* * *

"That little whore gets away! She slips out of our grasps and into the hands of the Bat and the police!" Nicholas Pannelli fumed, glaring at the imbeciles in his employ. He started to imagine if any of these idiots had brains larger than a peanut. They stood around the private suit of his deluxe yacht, his last refuge, a place where the Gotham police had not driven him out.

For seven days, he was stranded on the filthy dock, sea sickness beating him to submission. Time after time he fled to bathroom to empty his stomach. He was unable to keep anything down. He hated the water; the swaying motion gave him such terrible headaches, and the terrible stink of rotting garbage floating in the bay made him nauseous.

Upon his capture, Zsaz, the traitorous bastard, blew the whistle, admitting he'd been hired by him to do in the Miller girl. He grounded his teeth in rage. He should've known. Without Falcone to nurse his hide, the weight of his past sins, and this new indictment spelled more than a sweet life at Arkham. Harvey Dent ensured he would be getting the death penalty.

What was even worse? His opponents were getting bolder, using this crisis to muscle in on his turf. He knew it pleased Maroni; he was looking for a way to get rid of him for years; seeing him as stubborn annoyance. A visage of the past that needed to die. Salvatore Maroni should be careful. He and others like him ruled Gotham while he was just an itch in his daddy's pants.

His stomach lurched and he belched. A young underling handed him a glass of water and Alka-Seltzer. He dropped the effervescent tablets into the water. It sizzled.

"I should have let you go Ian," Pannelli exhaled, downing the medicine. "You never fail me." The stoic male grinned, his blues eyes glimmering, as he stood off to Pannelli's right. A vigilant sentinel. Tall, imposing, he'd been the Italian mobster's bodyguard and right hand for ten years.

"I want her dead," Pannelli cried. "She knows too much and that piece of shit, Zsaz, I want his head on a silver platter. I want Harvey Dent in pieces!"

"What about Wayne," someone said. "He's got her cooped up in that fortress. His death could spell big trouble…"

"Who gives a shit?" Pannelli roared. "That fuckin' pretty boy should've known better than to stick his nose where it don't belong. Take care of it!"


End file.
